


The Eagle & The Owl

by Sestra_Prior



Category: The Eagle & The Owl
Genre: Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sestra_Prior/pseuds/Sestra_Prior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fantasy story (with a hint of sci-fi) set in an imagined land. It follows the story of Kirryn, a boy used to being shunned by those around him, as he finds his way to a place he can call home, and to a man he comes to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hpstrangelove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpstrangelove/gifts), [Winoniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/gifts).



Chapter One

 

By the time Kirryn’s weary feet brought him to the crest of the hill, and he caught his first sight of the great town of Stonehaven, he was further than he had ever been from the place he had called home for the first eighteen years of his life. He let his pack slip from his shoulders to the ground, and then simply gazed at the sight before him. 

Below him spread a wide valley through which a broad river meandered. Cultivated fields—a patchwork of different greens, bordered by well-tended hedges—extended out across the valley’s broad bottom, interspersed here and there with coppices of trees, and farms and cottages.

The town itself sprawled in the midst of it all, on the far side of the river. Towering stone walls hid most of the buildings from sight, but here and there high roofs poked above the crenulations, and an occasional faint wisp of chimney smoke—drifting lazily upward in the still air—spoke of the life contained therein. A huge gateway stood in the centre of the wall facing Kirryn, great iron doors shut tight against the outside world.

The river was spanned by an arched stone bridge, high enough to allow access further up the river for the boats that Kirryn could see moored against the docks than ran along at the foot of the town walls.

Kirryn had walked through the night to reach Stonehaven in time. He had steadfastly placed one foot in front of the other, resolutely ignoring the knawing hunger pangs in his stomach, the ache of his weary bones, and the relentless chaffing of his boots against red-raw blisters. Early in the afternoon of the previous day he had learnt how far he still was from his destination. Not to arrive at Stonehaven in time for the spring hiring fair was unthinkable, and so, determined, Kirryn had quickened his pace and kept going, even when night fell and he couldn’t see, but only feel, the road beneath his feet.

And now that Stonehaven was within sight, Kirryn felt an odd mixture of emotions. If he was lucky, the hiring fair would mean the beginning of a new life for him, away from the village and the people he had grown up with. He would see new sights, meet new people and—and leave behind all that was familiar to him. It was the end of one path through his life, and the start of a new one. Before Kirryn lay a course that led into the unknown, and part of him was tempted to turn around and run back to all that he knew, no matter how unwelcoming it might be.

Even as Kirryn looked, the shrill call of a cockerel rose clearly in the air, reminding him that he had a place to be. Bending down, he once more picked up the pack that contained his worldly goods, took a deep breath, and set off down the road towards the town.

During the time it took for Kirryn to descend into the valley and reach the river, the town and its people had woken, and pedestrians, mounted riders and horse-drawn carts were passing freely over the bridge. The river was larger than any Kirryn had seen before. The woodland streams he was used to were fast flowing, tumbling over rocks and dashing through narrow gorges. Here the wide river flowed smoothly, and as he made his way over the great stone bridge, Kirryn used the excuse of making way for a farmer’s cart to halt his footsteps and lean over the wall to watch the steady flow of green water than swirled beneath his feet.

Alongside the river, the docks had also sprung into life, with boats being loaded and unloaded. Men scurried hither and thither, their shouted conversations ringing out in the clear, spring air. Kirryn watched, fascinated, until, with a sudden recollection of his purpose, he straightened, and made his way to the great, town gate that had now been flung open to allow the passage of life beneath its huge lintel.

There were two men guarding the gateway, and Kirryn approached them tentatively. “Ah, could you please tell me where the hiring fair is to be held?”

One of the guards, who had been talking to his fellow, glanced lazily in Kirryn’s direction, then he did a double take, and his fingers flicked into the sign against the evil eye. “That way,” he muttered, adding a jerk of his head to the directions. “Town Square. Much good it’ll do you,” he added in an undertone that Kirryn had no difficulty in hearing.

Ignoring the guard’s hostile look, and all too familiar with the man’s gesture, Kirryn squared his shoulders, and followed the direction the man had indicated.

Unlike those in his village, the streets of Stonehaven were cobbled. Kirryn wandered along them, awed by the great buildings that fronted the streets. Not rough timber dwellings these; some were of stone, others brick, and here and there were half-timbered buildings, their beams black with age, and the daub pristine white between. 

The streets teemed with people all hurrying about their business, surging in and out of the many and varied shops that lined the road. Wide-eyed, Kirryn saw shops selling boots, clothing, bread, household goods, weapons, rugs and tapestries, and even a shop selling jewellery.

Eventually, Kirryn found his way to the town square. A large building, presumably the town hall, stood at one side of the cobbled square, around the other three sides, various buildings fronted onto the open area. Some were houses, while others were shops and taverns. In the centre of the square was a large fountain that fed into a wide circular stone basin that was obviously used as a watering place for horses.

One corner of the town square was given over to a market, where stallholders were busy shouting their wares to the throngs of shoppers milling about in between the canopied carts.

But it was over on the opposite side of the square that Kirryn’s attention was drawn. Here a line of young people—and some not so young—stood, and Kirryn guessed that they were also here looking for work. He made his way across the square and edged into line beside two boys. One of them glanced up, grinned nastily as he simultaneously made the sign against the evil eye, then nudged his companion.

“I don’t think the Freak Show is hiring this year,” he said snidely to Kirryn.

Kirryn looked the boy up and down. “Then you’ll be unemployed at nightfall won’t you?” he said calmly.

The boy made an ugly face at Kirryn, then turned his shoulder and spoke pointedly to his friend.

As the sun rose high into the sky, then began to sink again, one by one the job seekers were selected by the men and women who had come to hire. Many of those same men and women had stopped by Kirryn to enquire what work he was looking for, but, in varying degrees, they recoiled when he raised his eyes to them. Now Kirryn was one of a dejected bunch of misfits, wondering desperately what he was going to do should he not get work.

The square began to clear of people, and the others who had not been lucky enough to get work wandered away. Kirryn stayed, his eyes fixed on his feet, his thoughts in turmoil. He just hadn’t considered the possibility of not finding employment, and now he faced the very real possibility of having to beg for food, and, worse, having to return to Woodedge, his tail between his legs.

“You, boy.”

The voice cut through Kirryn’s preoccupation. And, without thinking, he raised his eyes. Instead of a muttered oath and the all too familiar sign against the evil eye, the man standing before Kirryn merely raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, that explains a lot. There wasn’t a queue forming to offer you a job, I dare say. What is your name, boy?”

“They…they call me Archuan,” Kirryn managed to say through his surprise.

“The owl? Apt, although unoriginal. And what do you call yourself?” the man queried.

Kirryn opened and closed his mouth in confusion. It has been so long since he had been called anything else but Archuan, that he had almost forgotten that he had another name. “Kirryn…my name is Kirryn.”

“Well, Kirryn, I’m looking for a boy who will do whatever he is asked to do…what can you do?”

“Anything,” Kirryn said desperately. “I can do anything, and, and if I don’t know how to do something, I’ll learn—I’m a quick learner.”

“I’ll wager you are,” the man said, looking Kirryn up and down. “Well, you look strong and bright enough to me…I can offer you three silvers a week and your board and lodging. You get one day off every two weeks. Suit you?”

Kirryn boggled, suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that not only had he just been offered a job, but at such a good wage. “Yes,” he managed to stutter. “Oh, yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”

The man nodded. “Seems like it was lucky for both of us that my horse cast a shoe. Can you ride?” the man asked abruptly.

Kirryn nodded. “Yes, yes I can.”

“Good,” the man turned away. “I had hoped to reach the Postern before nightfall,” he said enigmatically, “but time has run on, and now it is a journey for tomorrow. Besides,” he added, casting a look at Kirryn, “it seems to me that you could do with a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.”

Kirryn’s stomach grumbled at the man’s words, making a lie of Kirryn’s stuttered denials.

“Come,” the man ordered, ignoring Kirryn’s half-hearted declaration that he was perfectly able to travel as far as the man wished to go, “we’ll stop at The Lamb and be off at first light.” He turned, and strode off across the square towards a large, well-appointed inn, from which the delicious scent of roasting meat was drifting.

As he followed the man’s rapidly moving form, Kirryn took stock of his new master. The man was perhaps in his late thirties, with the pale skin, dark hair and light-grey eyes that gave away his mountain-folk ancestry. Of average height, he was dressed in clothes made of good quality cloth, well fitted and of new appearance. Heavy chased silver cuffs around his wrists declared him to be a man of some wealth.

Kirryn caught the man up and began to trot a pace behind him. Not sure whether he should wait until spoken to, Kirryn chanced a question, “Is it far to your home, master?”

The man gave a short bark of laughter. “My name is Mentak; you can save the title of ‘master’ for Lord Anarion.”

As Mentak’s words sank in, Kirryn’s footsteps slowed, and then stopped. Even in the remote hamlet of Woodedge, tales of Lord Anarion had been told around the fires at night. Not only was he one of the great Border Lords, and a close friend of the prince himself: Lord Anarion was an Adept, able to harness the powers of the very earth. Men had whispered of his abilities in voices filled with awe—and fear.

Mentak noticed Kirryn’s hesitation. He halted himself, and turned back, a half smile on his face. “Ah, I see you have heard of my lord.”

“I don’t suppose there is anyone who hasn’t,” Kirryn replied honestly.

“And no doubt you have heard stories about my master, whispered around the fire at night?” Mentak queried.

Kirryn nodded his head.

“So?”

“So?” Kirryn frowned, unsure what Mentak meant, and then it came to him. Swallowing hard, and summoning up his courage, he repeated his earlier question, “So, how far is it to Lord Anarion’s home?”

Mentak’s smile broadened. “Good lad! I see I didn’t underestimate you. There are many who would have chosen unemployment over serving my master. But you have made a wise choice. My master is fair and just; do your best for him and you will have nothing to fear. As to how far it is, well, we should reach the Postern Tower by mid-afternoon tomorrow. We’ll stop there the night and then, if we make good time, we should reach Anarion Castle by evening of the day after.”

 

.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 

They rode hard the following day, pausing only briefly at midday to give the horses a rest, and to eat the food the innkeeper’s wife had prepared for them.

At first their journey had taken them through lush, cultivated lowlands. Cattle grazed in the meadows, and well-tended fields sported the first misty green of new crops. Orchards of trees heavy with white blossoms could be seen beside most of the small farmsteads they passed. Hedges divided the fields, and copses of trees were dotted here and there to provide windbreaks and shelter for the livestock.

But by late morning the land had changed. Now the grass was short and cropped only by sheep that scurried away, bleating, as the two horses cantered past. Their path became steeper, climbing between screes of tumbled rocks, and skirting huge boulders. 

And the Windgather Mountains—that had appeared on the horizon as a misty, purple range from Stonehaven—now loomed overhead. When they halted for lunch, Kirryn’s eyes climbed their peaks up to where the white snow caps met the sky. 

Mentak followed his gaze. “They are a sight, are they not?”

Kirryn nodded dumbly, silently wondering how they were going to scale the foreboding heights.

Mentak seemed to have read his mind. He gave a short bark of laughter. “I’ll not be asking you to ride Gallad here over the top—not that he wouldn’t do his best if I did—our way lies between.” He pointed slightly to their left, and Kirryn followed the indication, his eyes picking out the beginnings of a gorge that seemed to lead between two of the peaks. “Come on,” Mentak continued. “We’d best get on. I want to be sure of reaching the Postern well before dark.

The Postern Tower sat on a spit of land that jutted out into a deep, fast flowing mountain river that tumbled and surged over rocks, and whirled into eddies and spirals of white foam. Beyond the tower the river disappeared into a dark cavern at the base of a sheer rock wall. Before the tower, the path they were riding along split: one path led up to a huge, iron gate set squarely in the wall facing them, the other skirted the tower’s wall and continued on up the gorge. They followed the path up to the entrance, and Mentak turned to Kirryn. “And here, young Kirryn, is where you can start to earn your keep. You’ll be shown to our rooms, make sure they are ready for when I come up—I have to meet with Captain Jessany first—I’ll want clean, hot water, the bed aired and fresh clothes laid out. Can you do that?” he asked with a raise of one eyebrow.

“I’ll do my best,” Kirryn replied. As they neared the gate, he got a trembling feeling in his stomach, a churning of the mixed emotions that swirled within him. On the one hand, Kirryn was so tired he wished he could simply find an out-of-the-way corner and go to sleep. Another part of him wondered if the servants at the Postern would treat him with the same repugnance that those people at the hiring fair had shown.

The gates opened, and a rider came cantering out to meet them. He reigned up beside them with a flourish and a swirl of dust. “Mentak, my friend, I looked for you yesterday evening.”

“And found me not! Well met, Lanius.”

The two men clasped arms, then the man who had ridden from the tower to meet them turned his horse around and they continued on towards the Postern, Kirryn trailing in their wake.

“Bellis cast a shoe, or I would have been here as you expected,” Mentak explained. “As it was, we spent the night at The Lamb.”

Lanius half turned in his saddle, and glanced at Kirryn. Kirryn saw the man start slightly, but there was no sign of the hand, and after a second he turned back to Mentak. “I’ll warrant you’re in need of a good, hot meal, my friend?”

Mentak nodded. “Indeed, but first, there is a message from his Lordship that must be relayed to you.”

They passed beneath the arch of the gate, and entered the tower. Kirryn gazed about him.

They were in a huge courtyard of cobbled stone. The outer walls of the tower curved away to the right and the left, and before them a square keep had been built in the centre of the courtyard. Against the inside of the great ring wall, buildings had been erected: stabling for horses, workshops, and accommodation for the garrison of soldiers that manned the Postern Tower.

Lanius and Mentak dismounted, and Kirryn swiftly followed suite…too swiftly. His knees gave way at suddenly having to support his weight after hours in the saddle, and he collapsed in an ungainly heap to the stones. Laughter rang out around him, and Kirryn blushed a fiery red in humiliation. A hand was offered, and Kirryn took it gratefully as Lanius pulled him too his feet.

“I’m sorry,” Kirryn gasped as soon as he had regained his feet. 

But there was no censor in Lanius’ eyes. Instead, brown eyes regarded him kindly. “Nay, lad, don’t take on, it’s a long, hard ride even for those used to the saddle.” He clapped an arm around Kirryn’s shoulders and began to guide him towards the door to the central keep. “Come, Izar will show you to your rooms.”

Mentak handed Kirryn both their packs with a wink.

“Izar!” Lanius bellowed from by Kirryn’s side, making him jump.

A diminutive boy sped from around the corner of the keep, coming to a skidding halt before them, a huge, gap-toothed grin on his face. “Yes, Captain Jessany?”

“Take…” 

“Kirryn,” Kirryn supplied.

“Take Kirryn here up to Mentak’s rooms, and make sure he has all he needs.”

Izar snapped a salute. “Yes, Captain!” Then he grinned at Kirryn. “Come on, this way. Cor, your eyes are really funny! Have they always been like that?” Without waiting for an answer, he pattered away into the keep, Kirryn hurried to keep up with him, unable to keep a grin from his own face.

The contrast between the light outside and the dark in the keep blinded Kirryn for a few moments before his eyes adjusted. Behind him he could hear Lanius and Mentak talking quietly and he was able to follow Izar by the sound of his footsteps. When he could finally see again, Kirryn found himself in a low tunnel that led into the interior of the keep. Soon, however, they emerged into a space that was open to the sky above. A staircase spiralled around the inner walls which were dotted by doorways.

Izar set off up the stairway, and Kirryn followed in his wake, Lanius and Mentak behind them. The two older men turned off through one of the first doorways they came to, but Izar continued upwards and Kirryn climbed after him, ever conscious of the increasing drop on his left as they scaled the inside of the tower. Then Izar led the way through one of the doorways, and Kirryn found himself in a wooden floored passage that led off right and left. A door stood in the wall opposite the entrance through which they had emerged, and Izar opened it with a flourish. They had, it seemed, arrived at their destination. Kirryn gazed about him.

The room was well appointed, flooded with light from a window in the outside wall. A bed stood in one corner and a tall clothes cupboard in another. There was a large stone fireplace, in which a fire had been laid but not lit. Two high backed leather chairs stood on a skin rug before it. Rich tapestries decorated the walls.

“These are Mentak’s rooms when he stays here,” Izar chirped. “Will that be all, only I have other jobs to do?”

“Fine, thank you,” Kirryn replied distractedly, his mind already on his own tasks. “Oh,” he said suddenly as Izar turned to go. “Hot water—I need some hot water.”

“Out of the door and to the left, you’ll find a water heater. See you later.” And with that, Izar was gone.

Kirryn gazed about him for a few seconds more, and then, not sure how long Mentak would be, set off to find the water heater Izar had mentioned.

He turned to the left as Izar had indicated, but with no idea how many doors along the corridor the water heater was, Kirryn had to try each door. The first was locked, and he could only assume that it led to the quarters of some other member of the garrison staff, or perhaps it was an unused guest suite. Kirryn continued on. 

Further down the corridor Kirryn finally found the room he was looking for. On opening the door to this room, a cloud of warm air wafted out, heated, as it was, by a vast metal vat that stood against one wall, raised on stone blocks. At the bottom of the vat was a tap, similar to that found on a vat of ale, Kirryn approached it curiously. 

Casting a quick look around the room, Kirryn soon spied a shelf on which stood a number of tin jugs. He lifted one down, placed it beneath the tap, and then turned the little handle. A stream of steaming water ran out, and Kirryn marvelled at the convenience of having hot water at the turn of a tap.

When he returned to Mentak’s room, Kirryn looked about him, searching for a bowl in which Mentak could wash. It was then he noticed the door leading off the main room. It led to a small room in which a stand held a bowl, next to which was soap and a cloth for drying; against the opposite wall was a large tin bath. Kirryn placed the jug of hot water next to the bowl, and placed the cloth over it to contain the heat. Then he turned to go back into the main room.

On the wall beside the door was a large mirror.

Kirryn had, of course, see reflections of himself, but only in either puddles of water, or the misted, cracked shard of old mirror in his home. This mirror was clear and unstained, and Kirryn stared, fascinated, at the boy that stared back at him.

Black hair framed a heart shaped face that had been tanned brown by wind and sun. A straight, unremarkable nose, just where it should be, beneath which was his mouth, with lips that bordered on being full. But it was his eyes that held Kirryn’s attention. Completely unlike those belonging to anyone else, they were slightly slanted, like a cat’s eyes, the pupils were tawny gold and the irises more vertical than round, giving Kirryn a strange, otherworldly look.

He regarded himself for long minutes. His eyes were such a small feature, but they had been the cause of suspicion, enmity, and even hostility throughout Kirryn’s life. Of course, he had heard the story of the Tathyrus, the demon that came in the night and stole children from their beds—the demon who was reputed to be covered in a pelt of dark hair and have amber eyes like an owl—but did people really think Kirryn could be some sort of demon?

He frowned at his reflection and then, recalled to his duties by the sound of voices and footsteps from outside, returned to the main room.

Mentak arrived a little later, by which time Kirryn had lit the fire, turned down the bedclothes, and laid out a clean shirt, jerkin and trousers from those he had found in the cupboard. He was surprised to see flakes of snow on Mentak’s jacket.

“Aye, it’s snowing, Vicia take it!” Mentak cursed, seeing Kirryn’s expression. “It’d best not be too much, or we’ll have to stay here until it clears, and I need to be back at the castle tomorrow. Good lad,” he added, on catching sight of the neatly laid out clothes and the merrily crackling fire. “Cover the window, would you? I’d rather not have that wind whistling round my ears in the night.”

Kirryn turned to the window with a frown, and then realised that the tapestry that hung to one side of it could be drawn over the aperture on a rail, thus covering the window and keeping out the draughts. He tugged the heavy material into place, and almost immediately felt the difference.

When Mentak had washed and changed his clothing, he revealed a little alcove behind the other wall hanging which contained a bed for Kirryn’s use. By the time Kirryn had also washed and changed his own clothing, he was not sure what he wanted more: to curl up under the covers on his bed, or to assuage the hunger gnawing his insides.

Mentak settled the question. As if he could read Kirryn’s mind, he said shortly, “Never go to sleep on an empty stomach if you’ve a choice in the matter, besides,” he added, “there’ll be a place set for you at the table.”

A few stray flakes of snow were still drifting lazily down as Mentak led the way to the dining hall. They hissed in the torches that had now been lit to illuminate the stairway. Mentak sniffed the air. “Good, no more on the way, and what’s fallen will be gone by morning.”

The dining hall was a large room, warmed by the biggest fireplace that Kirryn had ever seen. Great logs were burning brightly within its cavernous depths, sending out waves of heat that could be felt even in the farthest corners of the room. Before it, three shaggy hunting dogs were sprawled on a rug. Two tables had been laid, and with a jerk of his head, Mentak indicated that Kirryn should seat himself at the larger of the two. He himself joined Captain Jessany and two other men, whom Kirryn assumed were senior officers of the garrison.

At his own table, Izar was already seated, and as Kirryn shyly approached, several other young men burst into the room, talking loudly amongst themselves. Izar dragged Kirryn into the chair next to him, and the other boys, with curious looks at Kirryn, found themselves seats around the table.

No sooner was everyone seated, than great, steaming bowls of fragrant stew and baskets of bread were placed in the centre of each table. A board containing a vast wedge of cheese was added to the repast, accompanied by crinkled apples from the previous year’s harvest. Izar piled Kirryn’s plate with stew, and bade him eat.

At first conversation was limited to requests to pass the bread or the cheese, but as hungers were assuaged, the chatter grew. The older men at the small table talked quietly, but at Kirryn’s table the talk grew loud as the level of ale in the jugs supplied with the meal grew lower. Finally, after a hurried, whispered exchange, the young man who appeared to be the ringleader said abruptly, “So, who are you, then?”

It was Izar who answered the question that had been directed at Kirryn. “His name is Kirryn, he came with Mentak. He’s to work at the Castle.”

“Be quiet, Izar. He may have strange eyes, but I’ve no doubt he’s able to answer for himself. So, Kirryn,” the man went on, “I am Falco, and this is Gryffydd,” he indicated the blond-haired man to his left, and then continued round the table, introducing each man seated. “Sterco, Yamsil, this fool is Nidal, Ecubar, and last, and definitely least,” he pointed to a grinning red-haired boy, “Apple.”

“Apple?” Kirryn couldn’t help but exclaim.

“Not really,” the redhead responded with a laugh. “Only it pleases these idiots to think themselves witty.” He stretched a hand across the table. “Barin, at your service.”

Kirryn clasped the proffered hand. “Kirryn, at yours,” he responded formally.

“So, Kirryn,” Falco continued, “you may as well get it over with now, because you know we’re all dying to know...your eyes? Not some long-lost relation of the Tathyrus, are you?”

Kirryn smiled. He was totally unused to such a direct approach with regard to his strange eyes; more often than not he was simply treated to a cold shoulder and a hand gesture. It made a refreshing change. 

He shrugged. “I’ve always had them...” he began.

Falco threw back his head and laughed. “Well, my friend Kirryn, we didn’t really think you acquired them from someone else.”

Around the table the other boys joined in the laughter, Kirryn included.

“I mean did your parents have the same sort of eyes? You have to admit they are very strange. Did you inherit them? Do they run in your family?” Falco asked, still grinning.

Kirryn’s smile faded. “I don’t know. I never knew my parents, or anything about them.”

The laughter died away and the boys around the table looked at him intently. 

“You mean you’re an orphan?” Falco asked.

“I was found washed up on a beach, apparently,” Kirryn said.

“Vicia!” Falco exclaimed. “So you really don’t know where you come from or who you are?”

Kirryn shook his head. “No, I was brought up by the man who found me, Turais. He took me home to his house in Woodedge, and that is where I have lived until now.”

“Woodedge?” Yamsil queried. “I’ll wager that was a barrel of laughs. Provincial isn’t the word for it. I’m surprised they didn’t burn you at the stake as a demon.”

Kirryn smiled tightly. “Let’s just say they weren’t overly friendly.”

“And what set your feet on the road to Anarion Castle, Kirryn?” Nidal asked.

“My guardian died—he held a position of some authority in the village—and after he was gone it was made clear that now I was no longer under his protection my continued presence was unwelcome.”

“So you found your way to us? What position are you taking up?” Falco asked.

Kirryn frowned. “I’m not entirely sure. Mentak just said he wanted a boy who would do whatever he is asked.

“Perhaps you’re going to replace that bastard, Emil,” Gryffydd suggested with an evil grin.

Falco hooted with laughter. “Lord Anarion’s personal servant? I wish, but I consider it highly unlikely. Emil has great regard for his position as ‘Lord Anarion’s chosen man’. I cannot see him relinquishing it without a fight.”

“What is Lord Anarion like?” Kirryn asked quietly.

The mood around the table sobered. “He is all things to all men,” Falco said fervently. “He is a great soldier, a great scholar and a great master.”

“Can he really...you know...is it true that he...”

“Is he really an Adept?” Falco supplied. “Yes, he is. And very powerful too.”

“Only my lady Lynaria’s brother, Ly...” Nidal began.

“That name should not be spoken in polite society,” Mentak interrupted coldly, leaning over Kirryn’s shoulder and glaring at Nidal.

Nidal blushed and hung his head. “No, Mentak; my apologies, Mentak.”

“Kirryn,” Mentak went on, “we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I believe it is time for us to retire.”

Kirryn rose to his feet, and bid goodnight to his new friends. “I hope to meet up with you all again,” he added.

“Indeed, we shall look forward to it,” Falco said, rising to his own feet. He came round the table and clasped Kirryn’s arm in farewell. “Have a safe journey tomorrow. And I hope you will be happy at the castle. Joking aside, watch out for Emil,” he added in an undertone. “The man treats all newcomers as rivals for his job.”

Kirryn turned to Captain Jessany and the other officers, and bowed. “My thanks for your hospitality,” he said formally.

“You are welcome, Kirryn lad. Sleep well,” Captain Jessany called.

Kirryn turned and followed Mentak from the room.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Mentak had been right. By the time he and Kirryn departed the Postern the following morning, the sky was a clear, bright blue and the dusting of snow that had fallen the previous evening had disappeared.

Despite his aches and pains, Kirryn was happy. The mountain air was fresh and invigorating and, high overhead, eagles soared around the snow-capped mountain tops.

“Everyone has been so kind,” he suddenly burst out, unable to keep his happiness to himself.

Mentak glanced at him. “Aye, you’ll find that most of those employed by his Lordship will judge by character, not looks. He is a keen judge of men, and seldom wrong in his assessment. I’ll warrant that is something you have not experienced much of in your life, young Kirryn,” he added shrewdly, “being judged for the man you are, not by your looks.”

“There were one or two people who saw past my eyes,” Kirryn answered.

“Your guardian?” Mentak asked, proving that he’d had an ear on last night’s conversation.

Kirryn nodded. “Yes. And there were a couple of others. But most people stayed away from me…they are such a small thing,” he went on, a note of despair in his voice. “I didn’t ask to be born this way. But they are all most people see about me.”

“Well, I think you will find things to be different at the castle. Speaking of which, we must push on today, the mountains are not the place to get caught at night.” That said, he drummed his heels into his horse’s flanks and set off at a brisk canter up the track.

They climbed steadily all morning, the high peaks rising around them. The mountains had a beauty of their own. A beauty formed from sharp angles, deep shadows and wind sculpted rocks. To Kirryn, however, who had spent his whole life amid the rolling valleys and deep woods of Middle Allaria, they seemed bleak and harsh, bare and barren.

Around midday, Mentak pulled up his horse at the top of a high pass. Kirryn reined up alongside him.

“This is the highest point of our journey,” Mentak explained. “Windgather Pass. For four months of the year it is impassable, and even this late in spring we get falls of snow that can block it for days on end.”

“So Anarion Castle is cut off for four months?” Kirryn asked incredulously.

Mentak nodded. “Aye, but you needn’t fret; we have plenty of stores to keep us fed and warm throughout the winter. And there is plenty of entertainment to be found in the village.”

“The village?” Kirryn echoed.

“Indeed. There is a large village—almost a town—by the castle. Speaking of which,” he added, “I can hear a warm hearth and a jug of ale calling me.” Mentak clucked to his horse, and they set off again.

Kirryn had thought the Postern Tower was impressive. It was nothing compared to Anarion Castle itself.

It was set in a hollow in the mountains. High, stone, battlemented walls bounded an interior where towers topped by steep roofs rose into the sky. On one side was the village that Mentak had mentioned, on the other the castle walls sank straight into the deep lake that filled most of the valley and reflected the sky like a sheet of polished steel. Only a narrow strip of land led around the lake—Kirryn followed it with his eyes until it disappeared between two high walls of rock in the far distance.

“Ah, home at last,” Mentak said with a sigh of satisfaction. “Come on, boy, let’s get on. We don’t want to be outside when darkness falls.”

Kirryn followed Mentak down the steep path, butterflies churning in his stomach. Despite Mentak’s reassurance, and the friendly manner with which he had been treated at the Postern, Kirryn had to wonder how he would be greeted by the other servants at the Castle.

“What...what will my duties be?” he asked, trying to disguise the tremble in his voice.

“You’ll be an extra pair of hands whenever, and wherever, needed,” Mentak answered blithely, his eyes fixed on the ever-nearing cluster of buildings that appeared like the houses of dwarfs when compared to the huge, towering fortress walls that loomed over them.

The horses’ hooves were soon ringing on cobbled streets between rows of houses, shops and inns. Mentak had been right; the village was more like a town than a village. People bustled hither and thither, many calling a greeting to Mentak as the two passed through. 

Kirryn gazed about him with interest, taking note of the various merchants that plied their trade in neat shops, and the inns from which a variety of odours of ale and food drifted, reminding Kirryn that he had nothing to eat since lunchtime—which seemed a long time ago now.

“There’ll be a good, hot meal waiting for us at the castle,” Mentak said, his own mind obviously on food.

As they neared the huge double iron doors that guarded the entrance to the castle, a cry rang out and one of the doors began to swing open. Beyond, Kirryn could see nothing but darkness and for a brief, thought-scattered moment, he wondered if they were going underground.

But the doors merely led to a dogleg tunnel that pierced the wide, outer defence wall of the castle, and soon he and Mentak were back under the evening sun. Kirryn halted his horse, awe-struck.

High walls bisected the interior of the castle. To his right, over one of the walls, Kirryn could see a large tower, with a slightly smaller one beyond.

“Those two towers are my Lady Lynaria’s quarters,” Mentak supplied helpfully, on catching sight of the direction of Kirryn’s gaze.

Before them, slightly obscured by another tower, stood a huge, stone tower that rivalled the Postern in size.

“The Main tower,” Mentak said. “In front of it, in the nearer tower, are the guest quarters. You’ll spend most of your time in those two towers, I think.”

Kirryn’s eyes scanned around the wide expanse of ground within the high outer walls, passing another large tower connected to the main tower, until they reached a single, lone tower on his far left. It was mostly hidden from view by a higher wall than the others. “And that one?” he asked, indicating the single tower.

“That’ll be my Lord Anarion’s private quarters. You’ll have no call to be there. All the towers can only be accessed from the Main tower. See the bridges?” Mentak indicated the arched spans that supported wooden passageways than ran between the towers about two thirds of the way up. “There are no doorways—except the one into the Main tower—at ground level. So, should the castle ever be overrun, Vicia forbid, then each tower can be isolated. The bridges are rigged to collapse if necessary. Come,” he added, setting his horse into motion along the cobbled track that ran from the main entrance to a gateway in a wall to their left.

Beyond the wall was a barracks and stabling for the horses. Kirryn, having learnt his lesson the hard way, slid cautiously to the ground and held onto Gallad’s saddle until he could safely take his weight on his own feet.

Mentak handed Kirryn over to Alwaid, the castle Steward. Two days later, Mentak departed on other business in his capacity as Agent for Lord Anarion—who was himself absent from the castle on business for the Prince.

One of the first duties Kirryn had been given was to go into the village and procure himself two uniforms from the castle tailor. He was supplied with two pairs of trousers in a deep burgundy colour, with two matching jackets, and five cream linen shirts. All the clothing was of good quality, and Kirryn donned his uniform with pride. Only his boots let his appearance down, and as soon as Alwaid saw them, he advanced Kirryn three silvers from his wages so that he could go and purchase himself some decent boots from the market in the village.

Suitably attired, Kirryn began his new job. His tasks were many and varied: from carrying heavy, steaming jugs of water for the laundry maids, to helping old Hamal, the gardener, in the kitchen gardens.

Admittedly, quite a large proportion of Kirryn’s time in the first two weeks was spent trying to find his way around the huge main tower and the two other towers where his duties took him: the tower where guests at the castle were housed and the tower where the staff were housed. Thankfully the staff at the castle seemed as inclined to be friendly as the residents of the Postern had been. There was always someone who was happy to point Kirryn in the right direction if he became lost.

Soon, however, Kirryn became familiar with the layout of the three towers. From the great dining hall on the central level of the great tower, to the high attic room in the servants’ quarters which was his own room, Kirryn was soon making his way about the castle with sure feet.

There were several young staff members at the castle, and Kirryn quickly made friends with them. It was a novel experience for the young man to be accepted and welcomed rather than shunned and treated with suspicion and antipathy.

There were Typha and Tyto, a pair of blond-haired twins who spent their time avoiding the wrath of Alwaid for their constant tricks and pranks. But at the same time they worked hard and never meant any harm by their antics. Inula was another of the boy servants, a quiet, introspective individual who was close friends with Kursa, another quiet boy. 

Malva became Kirryn’s special friend. He had curly brown hair, twinkling blue eyes and a sense of the ridiculous that called to the joker within Kirryn himself. He had the room next to Kirryn in the servants’ quarters, and the two were soon spending all their free time together. It was Malva who took Kirryn into the village on their first night off together after receiving their pay, and introduced him at The Wolf tavern where the castle staff tended to congregate.

They clattered through the tunnel to the outer gate, pushing and shoving at each in high spirits until they neared the great doors, then they became more serious, almost unconsciously straightening their backs and walking with a more purposeful stride, suddenly recollecting their status as servants of the great Lord Anarion himself.

“Back by eleven o’clock,” Sergeant Kemel, the gatekeeper, called after them. “Or you’ll be spending the night at your own expense, and a fine into the bargain.

“We’ll be back,” Malva responded. 

Malva led the way along the main street than ran through the village, then ducked down a lane than ran off to the left, and soon they arrived at The Wolf tavern. It was a half-timbered building, the beams black with age, a stark contrast to the whitewashed walls between. Diamond-paned windows twinkled with the candlelight that lit the interior of the inn. A heavy door stood square in the centre of the building, and above it swung the inn’s sign. It depicted a huger timber wolf, its jaws agape, a ferocious expression its face.

Kirryn looked up at it and shivered. “Are there wolves hereabouts?” he asked tremulously. Whilst wolves were sighted in Middle Allaria, it was a rare occurrence.

Malva nodded. “Oh, yes, there are quite a lot. Not so much during the summer—they find food deeper in the mountains—but during the winter they come down close to the village, and then no one goes out alone after dark. Lord Anarion organises wolf hunts if there gets to be too many of them. Come on,” he added, “I’m parched.”

Malva pushed open the door to the inn, and a wave of noise and smell rolled out. There was the aroma of tobacco, the rich scent of some sort of stew, and threaded through both was the hoppy smell of ale. Kirryn breathed it in and a happy expression spread itself on his face.

The tavern was busy. Numerous tables and benches stood about on the stone flagged floor, but there didn’t seem to be a spare seat anywhere. 

“Malva!” a voice called out from somewhere in the crowded room. “Malva! Over here!”

Malva turned and scanned the room. Then, with a grin, he grabbed Kirryn’s arm and began to drag him through the press of people until they reached a far corner of the room. Here they found a table at which were seated Corvus, a fellow servant, and another boy with a shock of red hair who Kirryn didn’t know but who somehow looked familiar.

“Come on,” Corvus said. “Sit down; we’ve saved you both a seat. Cally will be over in a bit with a jug of ale.”

Malva and Kirryn squeezed themselves on the bench to one side of the table.

“Kirryn, this,” Corvus gestured to the red-haired boy, “is Bellen.”

“Hello,” Kirryn said shyly.

“Did you come up by the Postern?” Bellen asked quickly.

“Yes, we...” it suddenly dawned on Kirryn. “You...are you Apple, I mean, Barin’s brother?”

Bellen nodded, smiling. “I am. So you met him? How was he?”

“I shared a table with him—and Falco and Gryffydd and the others—for the evening meal. He seemed well.”

“Falco and Gryff are still at the Postern?” Malva demanded.

Kirryn turned to him. “Yes, do you know them?”

Malva laughed. “Oh yes, we know them, Trouble and Mischief, as Lord Anarion calls them. They were here last summer, and then they got sent to the Postern...”

“To try and keep them out of trouble,” Corvus butted in with a wide grin.

“I hear there were several maidens who declared they were going to waste away from grief when those two departed,” Malva sniggered, digging an elbow into Kirryn’s side.

A large pewter jug was suddenly thumped down onto the middle of the table, quickly followed by four tankards. “There y’are, lads. That’ll be two coppers to you.”

Malva scrabbled in his pouch pocket and withdrew two copper coins. “This one’s on me,” he said, waving away the offer of coins from Corvus. “Thanks, Cally,” he went on, offering the serving girl the money. “Anyone for Snakes?” he asked, casting a quick look around the table.

Corvus and Bellen nodded eagerly. 

“Kirryn?” Malva queried, turning to Kirryn. “Do you know how to play?”

“I’m not sure...what game is it?” Kirryn asked.

“You might know it as Two Peas,” Bellen supplied.

Kirryn’s face cleared. “Oh, yes, I know how to play that.”

“Great! Cally, could we have the Snakes box, please, if no-one else has it?”

“Saved it for you, I did,” Cally said with a hint of smugness in her voice. “Thought you might be in tonight.”

“Cally, you are indeed a diamond among stones,” Malva said gallantly, earning him a titter and a hefty, playful punch on the shoulder from Cally, before she turned away to get the game box for them.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” Malva began, ruefully rubbing his shoulder, “that woman can certainly pack a punch.”

“Ahh, been beaten up by a girl again, Malva?” came a snide voice from behind them.

Corvus groaned. “Oh, shove off, Shadir.”

A tall, blond boy leant on the table, his eyes fixed on Kirryn. “So, the rumours are true. Hey, Owl Boy, what nest did you drop out of, then?”

“Fuck off, Shadir,” Malva said wearily.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Shadir snapped, his eyes flashing to Malva before returning his gaze to Kirryn. “I don’t know,” he went on, as if musing over something, “I’d always heard that the Tathyrus takes children away...not brings them!” He guffawed at his own joke.

“Leave Kirryn alone,” Malva began.

Kirryn silenced him with a hand on Malva’s arm. “It’s all right, Malva, I’ve heard it all before. This ass would have to come up with something far more original than that.” He gave Shadir a considering look. “And it looks very doubtful he has the wit,” he added.

The boys around the table laughed loudly. Shadir glared at Kirryn. “Just you wait, Owl Boy, I’ll pluck a few feathers off you, you’ll see.” He shoved away from the table and disappeared into the crowd.

“Who in Allaria was that?” Kirryn asked.

“Shadir...he works in the stables at the castle. Keep your eye out for him, Kirryn, he can be nasty piece of work.” Malva said darkly.

“Especially if he has those two inbreeds he calls ‘friends’ with him,” Corvus added.

Just then Cally returned with the game box, and, putting Shadir out of their minds, the four boys settled down to play dice.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 

There were several places within the castle walls to which Kirryn was denied access. The two towers housing Lady Lynaria and her retinue were barred by a sturdy door at the end of the passageway across to them. The two garrison towers were also off-limits—accessible, as they were, only from the outer ring wall—and the garrison compound itself was out of bounds. Although Lord Anarion ruled his force of men with an iron hand, they were tough, fighting men and when they were off duty they were kept apart from the main living areas of the castle. Their meals were prepared and served in their own canteen and they had their own taverns in the village where a wise man didn’t venture. 

The only other place that was forbidden to Kirryn was Lord Anarion’s tower.

Whilst Kirryn did not mind his restrictions on the whole, the fact that he was denied access to Lord Anarion’s tower rankled. Not because of the tower itself, but because the area within its surrounding walls was full of trees.

Kirryn had been brought up in the woods of Middle Allaria. Here, so high in the mountains, they were above the highest point at which trees could grow. Only in the grounds of the castle, protected by some power of Lord Anarion’s, were there trees. And Kirryn desperately missed the woods he had grown up in.

Lord Anarion was still absent, and the castle and its staff had settled into a state of semi-somnolence. With its master away, no guests visited, and as Lady Lynaria lived exclusively in her apartments and the gardens that surrounded her two towers, there was very little for the servants to do.

As the days grew longer and the weather warmer, Kirryn’s eyes turned more and more often to the high wall that surrounded Lord Anarion’s tower. Finally, one night, when the heat made the air in his room pulse and the sweat prickled on Kirryn’s skin, he could stand it no more. Throwing back the sheet that covered him, Kirryn sprang out of bed. Pausing only to cover his white nightshirt with his dark cloak, Kirryn made his way through the sleeping castle and, dodging between the shadows cast by the full moon that floated overhead in the star-strewn sky, crossed the open ground and came to the stone wall that guarded the elusive trees. 

Kirryn walked slowly around the base of the wall, seeking a way up, always careful to stay in the shadows, even though the eyes of the garrison soldiers were usually directed outwards. At the corner where the wall that girdled the tower met the main castle wall, Kirryn saw his opportunity. For a boy used to scaling trees from an early age, the climb up the wedge formed by the joining of the two walls was an easy scramble. Kirryn made it to the top, never once wondering about how he was going to descend in the darkness on the opposite side. 

Fortunately, just by the point he reached the top, a great oak tree had stretched out a branch that came to within a few feet of the wall. Without pausing to think about it, Kirryn leapt from the wall and clung like a squirrel when his fingers caught the branch. He heaved a sigh of pleasure at the feel and the scent of the living wood beneath his hands, and pressed his nose against the rough bark. Then he rapidly swarmed down the tree and finally stood on the long, cool grass that stretched between the great trunks.

His cloak was first to be despatched with, and then, with a muted giggle of daring, Kirryn dropped his nightshirt to the ground also.

Despite being so high in the mountains, Kirryn had been surprised at how hot it had become as the spring turned into summer. Not only did the valley in which Castle Anarion lay seem to protect it against the worst of the winds, but the castle walls themselves seemed to capture the heat of the sun and bounce it between them, at the same time forbidding access to any puff of wind that might have cooled the temperature. But here, in this little corner of the castle, protected by Lord Anarion’s magic, the air was cool and a light breeze danced between the trunks of the great trees, stirring the leaves overhead so that it seemed as if the little flickers of green whispered together.

Kirryn wandered beneath the boughs of the trees, almost forgetting that he was not in the woods he had called home for so long, revelling in the soft caress of the breeze on his bare skin and the sound of the trees’ murmur, until a faint sound reached his ears. Following the noise, Kirryn came upon a clearing, and stopped short, entranced by the sight before him. A great stone basin had been set into the ground and from it rose a stone heron, neck arched back, beak pointed to the sky; a constant stream of water emerged from its beak and fell in a tinkling cascade into the pool below.

Kirryn had just made up his mind to go and dip his feet into the doubtless cool water, when he was seized from behind. An arm came around his chest, tight enough to squeeze the air from his body. His arms were pinned against his sides, and he was pulled back against a solid chest. A hand grasped his throat hard enough to constrict the passage of air.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The cold, aristocratic voice was sharp enough to cut, and that, combined with the tendrils of white-blond hair that blew in and out of Kirryn’s peripheral vision, left him in no doubt about who had apprehended him. Castle Anarion’s master had returned.

“I...I’m—my name is Kirryn, Mentak hired me,” he managed to gasp. “I—I came for the trees,” he added, suddenly feeling foolish.

The arm around his chest relaxed slightly. “Came for the trees?” Lord Anarion repeated.

“Yes, I...I come from Middle Allaria, where there are lots of trees...and I missed them,” Kirryn finished miserably, sure now that he would be on his way back to those very same trees first thing in the morning.

Abruptly he was released and then swung around...and Kirryn came face to face with his master. Although he had seen a painting that hung in the solar in the Main tower, depicting the castle’s master and his wife, it had not prepared Kirryn for just how striking Lord Anarion was in real life. He stood a good head taller than Kirryn, with long hair that gleamed like the moonlight itself. His face was square jawed, with high cheekbones, the skin lightly tanned. But it was his eyes that attracted Kirryn’s attention the most: they were the most unique shade of turquoise, and seemed to glow with some sort of inner light.

Kirryn caught his breath and stood, mouth slightly agape, staring up at the man before him. Lord Anarion still held Kirryn by his shoulders, and his eyes narrowed slightly as they regarded Kirryn steadily. “I have no doubt that you are well aware this part of the castle is forbidden to you?”

Kirryn nodded dumbly.

“How did you get in?” Lord Anarion demanded abruptly.

“I...I climbed over the wall,” Kirryn managed to squeak.

Lord Anarion glanced towards the high, encircling wall, before returning his gaze to Kirryn. “Climbed over the wall? That shows some determination.” The icy voice had thawed slightly. “And unclothed, at that!”

With a sudden flush, Kirryn recalled that he was indeed stood naked before his master. A hand crept to cover his genitals. “Erm, well, I was actually wearing my nightshirt...and a cloak.”

“Which you subsequently discarded in order to skip naked through my trees?” Now there was a definite note of humour in Lord Anarion’s voice.

Kirryn allowed himself to relax just the smallest amount. “It...it was so hot in the rest of the castle...and so cool here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm.” Kirryn swallowed hard and lowered his eyes from those that watched him so intently.

A hand left one of Kirryn’s shoulders and a second later something fluttered through the trees towards them. Lord Anarion handed Kirryn his cloak and his nightshirt. 

Too amazed to speak, Kirryn, his face still red from embarrassment, struggled into his nightshirt and then his cloak.

“Come,” Lord Anarion ordered, swinging Kirryn around and marching him towards the guardian wall. Soon they were stood before it, and then, to Kirryn’s astonishment, Lord Anarion passed his hands over the stones and suddenly, where no doorway had been before, a low, arched portal appeared.

Abruptly Kirryn was swung back to face Lord Anarion. “I am sure I don’t need to tell you that you are not to come here again without permission?”

Kirryn nodded, his mouth dry.

Lord Anarion pushed Kirryn through the doorway. Kirryn took a few steps before the sound of his master’s voice called to him once again. “And next time you venture out at night, be sure to keep your clothing on...there are those to whom you might present too much of a temptation.”

Kirryn turned back to Lord Anarion, but both his master, and the doorway, had vanished as completely as if they had never been.

Having managed to get back to his room undetected, Kirryn collapsed on the covers of his bed and let out a deep, relieved breath. It seemed that he was not only going to be permitted to keep his job, but also escape punishment for his crime of trespass. He thought over his encounter with Lord Anarion, snatches of words and images passing through his mind, until they stopped, pausing on Lord Anarion’s last words to him...”too much of a temptation.”

Kirryn frowned over the meaning of the words. Had he been a maid, he could have understood the warning, but he was a man. Yawning spectacularly, Kirryn put the thought from his mind and allowed sleep to claim him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

 

Lord Anarion had ridden to the castle in advance of a large party of guests, and the following day the quiet routine of the servants’ lives was plunged into a frenzy of activity, readying the suites in the guest tower for their imminent arrival. 

Mistress Hedera, the cook, set to work preparing a great feast for that evening, and the kitchen, formerly a place of quiet comfort and conversation for the servants, became a busy hive of intense heat, dashing figures, shouted instructions and powerful smells of cooking.

Kirryn was waiting to serve the guests at the feast the next time his caught sight of his master. The great dining hall, unused since Kirryn had been resident at the castle, had been swept out, dusted and aired, and the great fire lit in the huge stone hearth despite the heat of the day. The long wooden tables had been scrubbed with sand and then polished with beeswax until they glowed. The best cutlery had been carefully brought out from the coffer where it had been stored, and the silver platters had been buffed to within an inch of their lives. Candles burnt in the numerous brackets affixed to the walls, and others burnt in the candelabra on the tables. 

At one end of the room, on a raised dais, stood the upper table with Lord and Lady Anarion’s throne-like chairs set in the centre, positioned to look down the length of the lower tables.

For some time now, guests had been arriving and taking their seats, according to their positions within their respective households: the highest ranked close to the top of the table, those of a lower standing nearer the end. By the time all were assembled, Kirryn’s stomach was a flutter of nervous butterflies.

Just before Lord and Lady Anarion were due to arrive, Mentak slipped into the dining hall. Kirryn hadn’t seen the man since he had delivered Kirryn to the castle, and he was gratified when Mentak sent a grin and a wink in his direction.

Mentak wasn’t the only one to leave his entrance to the last minute. A slim, dark-haired man sidled into the dining hall and made his way towards the middle of the tables. He had narrow eyes and a haughty expression. Kirryn glanced across the hall to where Malva was stood. His friend pulled a quick face, his eyes flicking to the new arrival, and he mouthed one word at Kirryn, “Emil,” before schooling his expression into one of suitable gravity.

Close on Emil’s heels came Alwaid, dressed in his formal black uniform. “Honoured guests,” he began in a loud voice, “may I present your hosts, Lord and Lady Anarion.”

The assembled company rose to their feet and let out a cheer as the master and mistress of Anarion castle made their way into the room, and progressed in a stately manner up to their seats, and Kirryn got his first look at Lady Anarion, the mistress of the castle. 

If her husband was moonlight, then Lynaria was the darkness. Jet black hair wound around her head in complicated plaits and knots, covered with a net of white gems that looked like stars in the night sky against the dark of her hair. She had a pale, pointed face, with dark blue eyes, and a petite figure—clad in a deep-blue silk gown—which seemed even daintier when she stood at her husband’s side. There were those who declared her a great beauty, but to Kirryn she had a tight, mean look about her mouth, and her eyes glittered with a hardness that he didn’t like. He had absolutely no doubt that had it been she who had caught him trespassing, he would have been out of a job in an instant.

Lord Anarion was equally regal, walking at his wife’s side, her hand on his arm. The long white-blond hair was now drawn back into the nape of his neck with a wide silver clasp, and bound down its length with narrower bands of silver, giving him a more formal look. He wore a black sleeveless jerkin over a white silk shirt with full sleeves which were gathered with black cords at the wrists. Form fitting trousers of the softest-looking leather clung to well-shaped, muscled thighs, and black leather boots rose to above Lord Anarion’s knees. 

Lady Anarion took her seat as her husband looked around his hall at his guests. For a split second his eyes met Kirryn’s, and Kirryn was almost certain that, just for a moment, a small smile danced at the corner of Lord Anarion’s mouth before the great man returned his attention to his guests, and made a speech of welcome.

Each of the servant boys had been given responsibility for a number of places at the tables, and for the next three hours Kirryn was kept busy serving his allotted guests with the numerous courses that arrived from the kitchen. By the time the last bite had been eaten, and people were surreptitiously easing open the laces on their dresses and trousers, Kirryn was exhausted. Only the silver jugs of port remained on the tables. The candles had burned low in their sconces and the great fire had been allowed to sink into grey ash.

But Kirryn’s guests seemed in no hurry to leave the table, and long after Lord and Lady Anarion had retired, they sat and chatted and drank, and Kirryn, who had been told his duties ended only when all those whose comfort he was responsible for had left, grew sleepier and sleepier.

Finally, the last three men rose from the table and made their way from the great hall. As they were leaving Kirryn heard of them say, “Not every night one can say one was served by the Tathyrus.” 

The other men laughed before one of them said, “Aye, but then Anarion always did run a strange household.” 

Kirryn collected their goblets and plates on his tray, and set off hurriedly to the kitchen. Then, the last of his duties discharged, Kirryn made his weary way to bed.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

 

For the next few weeks the servants were kept busy with the comings and goings of guests to the castle. However, by the week before Talas Eve the castle had emptied, leaving only the staff, the master and mistress and Lady Lynaria’s retinue.

The servants were looking forward to Talas Eve. It was the one night of the year they were all given off together, and they all had plans to go into the village and join in the festivities planned for the night. A huge bonfire had been built, and Lord Anarion had provided a steer to be roasted on a great spit. There were to be all manner of entertainments, for a travelling fair had arrived at Lord Anarion’s invitation. Numerous merchants and traders had set up stalls and booths, selling anything from beads to knives.

Kirryn was trying up the laces on his boots, having changed out of his uniform, when the leather cord snapped. He swore, just as Malva poked his head around Kirryn’s bedroom door.

“What’s up?”

Kirryn held up the snapped bit of lace and pulled a face. “You haven’t got a spare, have you, Malva?”

Malva shook his head. “No, but if you go down to the kitchen there is a box of them on the shelf in the scullery. Do you want me to wait for you?” he added.

“No, you go on, I’ll catch you up later.” Kirryn didn’t mind letting his friend go on ahead, for Malva had become enamoured of one of the village girls, and Kirryn was not at all sure he wanted to play gooseberry all night. If he let Malva go on ahead, he could catch up with Typha and Tyto and spend the night with them. If he ran into Malva he could always say he was looking for him.

Malva raised a hand in farewell, and with a grin, vanished back around the door.

Kirryn followed more slowly, conscious of his loose boot and unwilling to risk hurrying down the steep spiral staircase that led down the servants’ tower.

There was no one in the kitchen when he got there and it took him several minutes to find the box of leather laces that Malva had mentioned. He had just finished re-lacing his boot when Mistress Hedera appeared. 

“Oh, Kirryn, you’re a sight for sore eyes, I can tell you. Here I was, wondering what in Allaria I was going to do…but you will do just fine.”

“What is it, Mistress Hedera?” Kirryn asked. Although he was desperate to go and join in the fun at the fair, the cook’s face was a picture of concern and there was a desperate note in her voice.

“I need you to take a tray over to his Lordship’s tower. He asked for it a good while since and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“But what about Emil? Surely he serves the master?”

“Emil is ill with the flux and in no fit state to serve anyone with anything,” Mistress Hedera said with a snap.

Kirryn experienced a pang of guilt. He knew very well why Emil was ill, having been privy to the twins plotting to secretly dose the universally disliked man with orphus root.

“You’re the only one still here, Kirryn. And I can’t go, not with my bad leg,” Mistress Hedera added plaintively.

Feeling partly responsible for Emil’s inability to perform his duties, Kirryn gave in with a sigh. “All right, I’ll do it. Where’s the tray…and how do I get to the tower,” he added with a frown.

Despite her bad leg—from which Mistress Hedera only seemed to suffer when there was something she did not wish to do—Kirryn soon found himself, tray in hand, outside a small door he had never noticed, hidden as it was behind a large tapestry in the Main Tower solar. He made a mental note to check behind all the tapestries in the castle to see what other secret doors, rooms and passages might be hidden.

“Down the steps, along the passage, up the stairs at the end…leave the tray on the table in the library. And come straight back,” Mistress Hedera added seriously. “Don’t go poking your nose into anything.” 

She pushed Kirryn through the door and shut it with a bang behind him. Kirryn found himself at the top of a set of stone stairs—lit by torches—that led down. Carefully balancing the tray that held a decanter of dark-red wine and a silver goblet, Kirryn set off into the unknown.

At the bottom of the steps, a tunnel hewn from the very rock led in the direction of Lord Anarion’s tower. There were lit torches at intervals along the passage, lighting Kirryn’s hesitant footsteps. No decoration hung on the walls: no paintings, no tapestries, no armaments from a bygone age. It was a passage obviously designed for the use of servants and as such no adornment had been thought necessary.

It seemed to take far longer than Kirryn thought it should have done to reach the flight of stairs that presumably led up into Lord Anarion’s tower. At the bottom of the spiral steps, Kirryn took a deep breath, tried to quell the churning nerves in his stomach, then started up.

The room he arrived in was large; it must have filled most of the base of the tower, and the walls were completely lined with bookshelves filled with more books than Kirryn had thought existed in the entire world. A large fireplace was the only thing that broke up the ranks of tall shelves, and before it stood a few soft, upholstered chairs. A dark-coloured, fur rug spread like a pool between them. In another part of the room stood a desk with a high-backed wooden chair by it, and Kirryn assumed it was here that he was supposed to deposit his tray. After searching the room for any sign of life…and finding none, Kirryn made his way across the wide space and carefully set his tray down on a clear space on the desk. Then he gazed about him.

Completely forgetting Madam Hedera’s instruction to come straight back, Kirryn crossed to the nearest bookshelf and began to study the titles. His guardian had been a man of learning and had possessed a number of books which he had used to teach Kirryn to read and write. Since he had left Woodedge, Kirryn had had no opportunity to read, and he simply couldn’t resist the lure of so many books.

A huge tome drew his eyes, and without thinking, Kirryn drew it from its place on the shelf and opened it. It was filled with maps. Fascinated, Kirryn began turning the pages until he came to one that contained a map of the area around his old home. It was incredible to see the physical features of the land interpreted on paper. The areas of woodland, the streams, fields, roads, paths, even the hills and valleys were marked on the paper and Kirryn traced his finger along paths he had walked, imagining the landscape around him.

“Again I find you where you should not be.”

Kirryn let out a shocked cry and dropped the book to the floor, spinning round to face his master. Lord Anarion was leaning against his desk, booted ankles crossed, his arms folded. Kirryn had no idea how long he had been there…he had certainly not heard the man arrive.

“Pick that book up and return it to its rightful place,” Lord Anarion ordered.

Kirryn hastily did as he was bid, sliding the map book back into its space. He felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him and his heart was pounding in his chest. When he next turned round, Lord Anarion was stood right behind him, looming over Kirryn, and Kirryn spared a scattered thought to wonder how his master could move so quickly and so silently.

Lord Anarion gazed at Kirryn, a stern expression on his face. “I let you off once for trespassing where you had no right to be, but a second time…and inappropriately dressed again,” he added, commenting on Kirryn’s lack of uniform.

“Mistress Hedera sent me,” Kirryn blurted desperately. “With your wine,” he added, glancing towards the tray he had placed on Lord Anarion’s desk. “Emil has the flux and all the other servants had already left for the Talas Eve celebrations in the village—I was just on the way myself—so she asked me to bring the tray,” he blathered on.

Lord Anarion gave Kirryn a considering look. “Hmm, plausible, I suppose,” he said slowly. “But that doesn’t explain why a servant boy who cannot read was making free with my books.”

“I can read,” Kirryn said indignantly, “and write.” Then, realising his audacity in speaking so to his master, he slapped a hand over his mouth. “I beg your pardon, my Lord,” he said miserably.

“Read? And write?” Lord Anarion echoed. “My, my, I did you an injustice. I beg your pardon.”

Kirryn, unsure how to respond, remained mute, dropping his eyes to the floor and scuffing his toes.

Lord Anarion remained silent for so long that Kirryn began to wonder whether he was expected to leave. Even without looking, though, he could feel his master’s eyes upon him.

Finally Lord Anarion spoke. “You intrigue me, young Kirryn.” A hand reached out and strong fingers gripped Kirryn’s chin, tilting his face up so that Kirryn had to meet his master’s turquoise gaze. “Where do you come from?” Lord Anarion asked quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

Before Kirryn had a chance to reply, they were interrupted. A section of the bookcases swung open, and Lady Lynaria entered the room. She cast a hostile look at Kirryn, and then snapped, “Get out!”

Kirryn glanced up at Lord Anarion, who dropped his hand from Kirryn’s face and gave a curt nod of his head. Kirryn crossed swiftly to the staircase. He had only taken two steps down the spiral staircase however, before Lady Lynaria began to berate her husband.

“Really, Anarion, enough is enough! First you fill my house with your guests without any notice and with no thought for my ill-health…”

“Ill health?” Anarion interrupted coldly. “My dear Lynaria, surely by now you should have realised that your bed holds no interest for me, and staged a miraculous recovery?”

“How dare you?” Lady Anarion stormed.

Kirryn’s face burned as he quickly made his way down the stairs, but before he could get out of earshot of the argument, Lady Lynaria had blazed on. “I suppose there is no lack of willing servant girls to fall into your bed?”

“Servants?” Anarion said lazily. “I have no need to resort to servants…there are plenty of willing partners within my own class who, unlike you, seem to find the thought of bedding with me not at all abhorrent.”

Kirryn reached the bottom of the steps, and began to run as quietly as possible along the passage, his face red with embarrassment.


	7. Chapter Seven

Several days following the episode in the library, another incident occurred that was equally unpleasant for Kirryn.

He had been sent down to the stables with a bottle of liniment for Horsemaster Gennus, an elderly ex-solider who had once held a high position in Lord Anarion’s father’s fighting force. Now he was in charge of the stables, albeit in a titular capacity only now, due to his increasingly ill health. He suffered from a complaint of the joints which pained him greatly, and the only thing that seemed to bring him any relief was the liniment brewed up by Mistress Hedera, the recipe for which was a closely guarded secret.

When Kirryn reached the stables, however, he found them unnaturally quiet. There was none of the usual bustle and noise, and for long moments he looked around him, searching for any sign of life beyond the noise of the horses tethered in lines in the stalls. Eventually, the noise of cheering reached him, and Kirryn, conscious of the fact that he was forbidden access to the soldiers’ practice yard, made his way stealthily to the end of the long, low stable block and peered around.

The practice yard was ringed with spectators. Kirryn moved closer, and, when no one paid him any attention, squeezed into a gap at the rail that surrounded the patch of beaten earth.

There were two men duelling in the middle of the ground, one of whom was Lord Anarion himself. Although Kirryn knew very little about sword fighting, even he could see that Lord Anarion was an extremely accomplished swordsman. He seemed to move with a fluidity and grace that made his opponent look like a lump of clay with a stick. The great sword that Lord Anarion wielded must have been heavy, but he swung it as if it was as light as a feather, fashioning arcs and circles that almost seemed like a dance of steel, the light flashing on the highly polished blade as Lord Anarion thrust and parried.

Kirryn watched entranced until, with a final, lightening-fast move, Lord Anarion had the point of his blade at his opponent’s throat. There was a huge cheer, and Kirryn took the opportunity to slip quietly away. He would simply leave the bottle of liniment in Gennus’ little room next to the harness room.

Hurrying back to the main tower, his mind full of the sword fight he had just witnessed, Kirryn was startled when a figure loomed in front of him, effectively blocking his path. His heart sank when he recognised Shadir.

On the few occasions when Kirryn had been required to go to the stables, he had taken care to avoid any contact with the big, blond boy. Although he had noticed the hostile glances cast his way, there were usually plenty of people about whose very presence ensured that Shadir would not approach him.

Now, however, there was no one, with everyone busy at the practice yard.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Owl Boy,” Shadir sneered.

Kirryn glanced behind him with a thought to racing back to the stables, but another man stood behind him blocking his exit.

Shadir laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you’ve met my friend, Neflyn. Neflyn, this is Owl Boy…the cheeky little bastard I was telling you about. 

Behind Kirryn, Neflyn laughed nastily.

“And you know what we do with cheeky little bastards, now, don’t you?” Shadir continued.

“We teach them a lesson in manners,” Neflyn supplied.

Kirryn swallowed hard and wondered if he could make a break for it past Shadir. But before he could make up his mind, he was seized roughly from behind and held fast. Kirryn struggled desperately, but there was no escaping the iron grip that held him.

Shadir sauntered closer. “Not so mouthy now, are you, Owl Boy?” 

Kirryn wasn’t given a chance to respond before a fist was driven into his stomach. He cried out hoarsely and would have sunk to the ground had Neflyn not been holding him. The first blow was swiftly followed by two more, another to his stomach and one to his cheek that caught the edge of his lip and spilt it—Kirryn could feel the blood trickling down his chin. Another blow landed squarely in one of Kirryn’s eyes.

He closed his eyes as the fist sped towards him again...but the blow never landed. Instead it was Shadir that cried out, and Neflyn abruptly released his hold. Kirryn staggered, but managed to remain on his feet, forcing open his eyes to see who it was that had rescued him. He shut them immediately in embarrassment and horror when he realised that it was Lord Anarion himself who held Shadir by the scruff of his neck and was even now in chilled tones ordering the big, blond boy to pack his things and get out of the castle. A ring of soldiers stood around watching the altercation, and in the brief moment before he closed his eyes again, Kirryn noticed that there was more than one look of satisfaction on the faces that surrounded him. He was obviously not the only one who did not like Shadir.

He kept his eyes shut when another gruff voice asked him if he was all right, merely nodding his head mutely. And kept them firmly closed until, finally, the sound of voices and footsteps went away. Then he crept them open...to find Lord Anarion stood, regarding him steadily, his arms folded across his chest.

“Get yourself seen to, then I expect you in my library before four o’clock,” Lord Anarion said coldly, before turning and striding away.

Mistress Hedera clucked over Kirryn as she applied various unguents and ointments to his cuts and bruises, but the pain from his various wounds was nothing compared to the pain in Kirryn’s heart. He knew for certain that this time Lord Anarion would send him packing; on three occasions now his master had had cause to censor Kirryn’s behaviour, and although this last event could in no way be considered his fault, Kirryn was sure that Lord Anarion would simply decide that Kirryn was too much of a nuisance to have around. 

Finally, as four o’clock drew close, Kirryn could no longer put off his visit to his master, and with dragging footsteps he made his way through the hidden door and along the subterranean passage that led to Lord Anarion’s library.

Lord Anarion was seated at his desk, still dressed in the quilted leather, sleeveless jerkin he had been wearing on the practice yard, but the chainmail sleeves had been detached—lying in a pile of glistening silver to one side of the desk—revealing the billowing, white shirt sleeves beneath. Kirryn hesitated at the top of the spiral staircase until the tip of Lord Anarion’s quill pen gestured to him to draw nearer, then he slowly advanced to the desk and stood, trying to stop his knees from knocking together. 

The top of Lord Anarion’s desk was strewn with scrolls and parchments. A large book was open on one corner of the table top, and Kirryn recognised it as the book of maps he had been caught reading the last time he was in this room.

Finally, Lord Anarion flung down his pen and sprawled back in his chair, regarding Kirryn critically. Kirryn, who had now been subject to that intense blue gaze on two previous occasions, still found it disconcerting in the extreme and it was all he could do not to fidget and scuff his toes on the richly embroidered rug beneath his feet.

Lord Anarion said nothing, then abruptly surged to his feet and rounded the desk until he was stood in front of Kirryn...then he did the most extraordinary thing: he reached out and delicately traced his fingers over the abrasions on Kirryn’s face. Kirryn gasped at the touch, and then gasped again at the sensation that suddenly tickled his skin. It was like the soft flutter of a moth’s wings against his face.

Lord Anarion slowly lowered his hand, and Kirryn’s fingers flew up to replace them, feeling over his face. Where there had been the ragged edges of gashes, sticky with the ointment that Mistress Hedera has smeared on them, there was now smooth skin, and the tender places where bruises had bloomed were now pain-free. Even his eye, that had swollen and turned a decidedly unflattering shade of purple, had been returned to its former, pre-punch state.

“Thank you,” Kirryn managed to gasp, nearly awed into speechlessness by this further demonstration of his master’s powers.

Lord Anarion merely shook his head slightly before returning to his seat behind his desk. Finally he spoke, “What am I to do with you, Kirryn?” he began, a frown on his handsome face. “I have had my attention drawn to you three times now in not so many more weeks...that is more attention than I pay to my servants in a year. Are you not aware that the task of a servant is to carry out his duties in an efficient, unobtrusive, way?”

Kirryn nodded sadly, then felt a need to defend himself. “But, My Lord, I can hardly be blamed for Shadir punching me,” he blurted.

“No? So it was a completely unprovoked attack was it? You had had no words beforehand?”

Kirryn blushed and his eyes dropped once more to his feet.

“This is a defensive castle, Kirryn, not some soft, country estate. I need everyone in it to know their job, to perform it effectively, and not to cause disruptions. Do you understand?”

He was going to be made to leave, Kirryn knew it, and that knowledge made his heart ache and caused a sickness in his stomach, because he had been happier here at Anarion castle than he had been anywhere else in his short life. Even when he had lived with his guardian at Woodedge, he was always conscious of the fact that he was only tolerated because Turais had protected him. Here at the castle he had been not only been accepted but welcomed; he had made friends; he had thought that he had finally found a place for himself.

“Please,” he suddenly found himself saying, “please don’t send me away. Please! I promise that I’ll do my best; I’ll try not to get into any more trouble. I do know my job and I can perform it properly, please!” he begged unashamedly.

Lord Anarion frowned. “I’m not going to send you away. What in Allaria gave you that idea?”

Kirryn could hardly believe his ears. “You’re, you’re not?”

Lord Anarion smiled and shook his head. “No.”

“Really?” Kirryn persisted.

“I swear I won’t send you away,” Lord Anarion confirmed. “Still,” he continued, “I’m not sure….” He got once more to his feet and began, almost distractedly, to scan the nearby bookshelves. “I’d send you to The Postern…” he began after a few moments.

“But you just promised…” Kirryn cried.

“However,” Lord Anarion continued, casting a quelling look at Kirryn, “with Trouble and Mischief already in residence, I don’t think Captain Jessany would thank me for throwing Nuisance into the mix…and yet…no,” he said firmly, as if making up his mind about something, “there is only one thing for it, as I am loathe to let you out of my sight in case you get into further strife, you will have to accompany me to Castella. We leave at the end of this month, make sure you are ready.”

“Castella?” Kirryn breathed, wide-eyed. Although he had heard much mention of Allaria’s capital city, he had never in his wildest dreams ever thought he would get to visit it. “You’re going to take me to Castella?” he asked, seeking confirmation that he hadn’t misunderstood his master.

“Yes,” Lord Anarion reiterated, a definite note of amusement in his voice.

“And you’ll bring me back again?” Kirryn asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Lord Anarion laughed outright. “Yes, Kirryn, I’ll bring you back again…as long as you don’t misbehave!”

Kirryn stood, transfixed, until Lord Anarion said mildly, “Do you not have duties to attend to?” 

Kirryn gave him a huge grin, then bowed and scurried away, keen to tell his friends his exciting news.


	8. Chapter Eight

On the afternoon of the eleventh day, the party from Anarion Castle turned off the main road that led to Castella, and continued on along a less well-used track that headed almost due north.

It wasn’t long before they came to a bridge over a fast flowing river, and they clattered across. Rounding a bend in the road, Kirryn got his first view of Riversmeet; he fell in love with it immediately.

If castle Anarion was the archetypal fortress, then Riversmeet was the epitome of a country manor house. It was long and low, built of a mellow brick that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sunshine. Roses clambered up the old walls and framed the diamond paned windows. Doves billed and cooed atop the stone flagged roof. Behind the house a densely wooded hill rose, the leaves on the trees showing the first hint of autumnal gold.

Kirryn’s eyes lit up with pleasure at the sight, and he grinned.

“More to your liking, young Kirryn?”

Lord Anarion had reined up his dark chestnut stallion at Kirryn’s side, now he looked down at his servant, a smile on his face.

“Oh, yes, my Lord. It’s lovely, really lovely,” Kirryn enthused. “I mean,” he went on hastily, “I like the castle well enough, but…” he trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

Lord Anarion’s gaze went back to the manor house. “I know what you mean,” he said quietly. “I am also very fond of Riversmeet. I spent a great deal of time here as a boy...my brother and I ran wild in those woods, playing outlaws and highwaymen.” He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, until his face suddenly sobered.

“I must see to the women,” Lord Anarion said abruptly. He collected his reins, and then glanced down at Kirryn once more, his turquoise eyes twinkling, a smile tugging the corners of his well-shaped mouth. “Enjoy your time here, Kirryn—you may go into the woods when you have time off—but try and stay out of trouble!” Then he clucked to his horse, and cantered off to join his wife.

“And try and remember your place,” a snide voice added. 

It was Emil, following at his Lordships’ heels, as usual. It was said among the servants that, if Lord Anarion would but permit him, Emil would curl up like a dog at the foot of his master’s bed. Now he drew alongside Kirryn and looked down at him, a hostile expression on his face. “I know what you’re about, creeping to his Lordship all the time, ‘yes, my Lord, no, my Lord, anything you say, my Lord’,” he went on in a derisive tone of voice.

Kirryn raised his eyebrows. “I rather thought that was your job?” he asked innocently.

“It is, and don’t you forget it!” Emil snapped, before realising what he had said. He stuttered with rage, his face turning an alarming shade of red, before with a cry he drove his horse forward, the sound of Kirryn’s laughter ringing in his ears.

As they neared the house, Kirryn’s face fell slightly. At the castle he had become used to being accepted by those he met. There were very few, even among the villagers, who made the sign against the evil eye in his direction, or name-called, or made remarks about his appearance. 

On the way to Riversmeet, however, he had been reminded that not everyone shared the same broad-minded and accepting attitude. Over and over again he had noticed the stares, the hand-gestures in his direction, and the downright hostility at times. Now he began to wonder how those at Riversmeet would treat him.

The cavalcade made its way to the rear of the house, and Kirryn found himself in a large cobbled courtyard that had a stable block running along the side opposite the house. Mentally squaring his shoulders, he clambered off his horse and began to attend to the duties that had been assigned him.

He needn’t have worried; he was greeted with friendly openness, just as he had been at the Postern and castle Anarion. The Riversmeet servants were simply happy to have an extra pair of hands to help with the influx of people. One of the other servant boys, Gwydion, showed him to small bedroom beneath the eaves of the house, where a low window looked out over the cobbled square at the back of the manor and up to the woods beyond.

There were two beds in the room.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing,” Gwydion asked shyly.

Kirryn turned to his companion. Gwydion was perhaps his own age, with hair the colour of a new-fallen conker, grey eyes, and clear, creamy-coloured skin. Kirryn had liked him on sight, and thought that it might in fact be fun to share a bedroom for a while. “Of course I don’t mind…but do you mind having to share your room with me?”

Gwydion grinned, “No, it’ll be fun,” he said, echoing Kirryn’s thoughts. “Come on,” he added, “we’d better hurry, the last time I looked, Master Elladan had a list of jobs as long as my arm for us to do. Just drop your bag on that bed.” Gwydion pointed to the bed on the left of the room. “There’s a water closet along the corridor…you can get washed, and then we’d best go.”

The following morning, Lord and Lady Anarion, together with a small retinue, rode off along the road that led to Castella, leaving a rather disappointed Kirryn behind. Emil had shot him a triumphant look as he rode off behind his master.

Kirryn’s disappointment wasn’t to last long, however. Mid-morning, the clatter of hooves on cobbles heralded the arrival of another visitor. Gwydion and Kirryn happened to be outside at the time, and they were the first to greet Mentak as he swung down off his horse.

He winked at Kirryn. “Kirryn! Well met!”

“Well met, Mentak,” Kirryn returned the greeting, a wide smile on his face. “It’s good to see you…but I’m afraid Lord Anarion left early this morning for Castella.”

Mentak did not seem bothered; he threw the reins of his horse to a groom who had come running, and turned to go into the house. “No matter. I thought I might have missed him. So, young Kirryn, are you managing to keep out of trouble?” He turned to look at Gwydion. “You be careful, Gwydion, don’t let this rapscallion lead you astray.” Looking at Kirryn once more, he put on a grave expression. “I don’t know, skipping naked through his Lordship’s private grounds, making free with the books in Lord Anarion’s library, fighting…”

Kirryn’s face felt hot, and he stole a glance at Gwydion…whose own face wore an expression of amazement.

“Just make sure you don’t get into any more trouble,” Mentak went on, “I don’t want Lord Anarion accusing me of hiring a pest!” For a moment he maintained his serious look, and then threw back his head and laughed. “Go on, get back to work, the pair of you!” he said, lightly cuffing the back of Kirryn’s head, before disappearing into the house.

“Did you really do those things,” Gwydion asked breathlessly, the minute Mentak was out of earshot.

Kirryn pulled a rueful face. “I’m afraid so, apart from the fighting bit; that was more like being beaten up by Shadir rather than actually fighting him. You know Shadir?” he asked, catching sight of the expression on Gwydion’s face.

“I know him,” Gwydion said quietly. “Before coming here I was at the castle for a while.”

“But the other things, the skipping naked bit and the library, I did those,” Kirryn went on shamefacedly.

“You were naked in Lord Anarion’s private grounds?” Gwydion giggled. 

Kirryn nodded. “I thought he was away, so I climbed over the wall. It was so hot so I took off my cloak and my nightshirt and just wandered around. Then he caught me: he’d come back unexpectedly. I didn’t know what to do. But then—it was amazing—he just flicked his hand, and my cloak and shirt just flew to him.”

Gwydion’s mouth fell open. “He used his powers in front of you?”

“Yes. Why? Doesn’t he usually?”

Gwydion shook his head rapidly. “No, never. He rarely uses them at all. And he didn’t order you to leave?” Gwydion went on, a note of amazement in his voice.

“No; even after he caught me reading one of his books in his library.”

Gwydion stared at Kirryn. “He must like you a lot to let you get away with all that.”

Kirryn blushed. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said, “and I mean to stay well out of trouble from now on,” he added fervently.

Gwydion regarded him solemnly. “You’d better. I can’t see Lord Anarion giving you any more chances.”

Despite the amount of work he and Gwydion had been given the night before, soon after lunch both boys found themselves at the end of their list of jobs, and were thus free to do as they pleased. They were sternly instructed to be back by five o’clock, and then told to make themselves scarce. They lost no time in changing out of their uniforms and making for the woods, where they spent a happy afternoon becoming fast friends.

Kirryn slipped easily into life at Riversmeet. The days passed in a happy routine of mornings spent doing jobs around the manor, and the afternoons spent with Gwydion, either in the woods if the weather was fine, or in the servants’ hall playing snakes if it was not. 

All in all, Kirryn was happy, but as the days passed and became weeks, and every other day Lord Anarion rode off to Castella without him, he became more and more restless. Lord Anarion had said he would take Kirryn to the city, but so far there seemed no sign of him doing so.

Kirryn had just about made up his mind to ask Mentak to mention his desire to visit Castella to Lord Anarion, when Mentak himself sought Kirryn out and informed him his presence was required in Lord Anarion’s study. “What have you been up to now?” he added, with a severe look.

“Nothing,” Kirryn said earnestly, “at least,” he went on, a note of doubt creeping into his voice, “nothing that I can think of.”

“Hmm, must be something to do with him wanting to take you to Castella, then. Well? What are you standing there for?” Mentak laughed at Kirryn’s open-mouthed expression of glee. “Get a move on! Lord Anarion is waiting.”

Kirryn knocked timidly on the study door and was bade enter. Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on the seat of his trousers, Kirryn swallowed hard and pushed open the door.

“My, my Lord? You wished to see me?”

Lord Anarion was seated behind a large desk that was covered with books and papers, he looked distracted, but he face lightened at the sight of Kirryn. He tossed his pen onto the desk and relaxed back in his chair, then nodded towards a high backed chair near the fire. “There, for you.”

There was a garment hanging on the back of the chair, and Kirryn plucked it off and held it up. It was a burgundy velvet, sleeveless tunic, richly embroidered with the Anarion eagle, its wings stretched up, claws out-reaching as it stooped for its prey.

“There is a ball tomorrow evening at the palace. I wish for you to accompany the party as page. Mentak will instruct you as to your duties,” Lord Anarion went on.

Kirryn’s eyes shone with happiness as he took in the magnificent garment. Not only was he to go to Castella at last, but he would be going to the very palace itself. Maybe he would even get to see the prince. He turned his shining eyes on Lord Anarion, who was watching him with some amusement. “Thank you, my Lord, Oh, thank you!”

“Well, I did promise to take you to the city, and I thought you might like to see the palace. Call it a reward for staying out of mischief. Just remember, Kirryn, that you will be wearing my emblem on your chest; I expect you to behave with dignity and honour.”

“Oh, I will, Lord Anarion. Thank you so much. I’ll do my very best, I promise,” Kirryn stuttered.

“I’m pleased to hear it. Now, off you go and find Mentak, he will tell you all you need to know.”

Kirryn turned one last beaming smile on his Master. “Thank you,” he said fervently. “For everything. I…I…” Absurdly, Kirryn felt tears prick his eyes, and before he wept like a maiden in front of his Lordship, he hurried from the room with a hasty bow.

He discovered Mentak lounging against a wall just outside the study. “I’m going to the palace,” he blurted excitedly.

Mentak grinned. “Aye, I know. Come, let’s find somewhere quiet, and I will tell you what you need to know about your duties.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a Bank Holiday! So here's an extra chapter to celebrate :-)

The following afternoon, suitably briefed, and so excited he thought he might be sick, Kirryn set off with the party to Castella. They were accompanied by two pack horses that carried boxes containing all the finery needed for the ball. They had been assigned rooms in the palace itself, and it was here they would change for the festivities, and then spend the night after the party had finished.

Kirryn shivered, partly with excitement and nerves, partly with cold. Winter was fast approaching, and there had been a frost on the ground the last few days. He looked enviously at the great, thick, black fur cloak that Lord Anarion had wrapped around him. 

Mentak, who was riding at his side, must have noticed his movement for he said, “You must get yourself a warmer cloak, young Kirryn. But wait until we get back to Windgather, there is a good furrier there who will give you a better price than any in Castella—and a discount for being castle staff.”

“I will,” Kirryn agreed. “But my nerves are making me shake as much as the cold,” he added honestly.

“Just remember all that I told you, and you will do fine,” Mentak said bracingly. “Lord Anarion would not have allotted you the task if he did not feel you were capable of doing the job.”

“Are we going back to the castle soon?” Kirryn asked in an attempt to distract himself from the task ahead.

Mentak nodded. “Probably in a few days. We must make sure we are over the pass before the snow flies; Lord Anarion would not wish to be cut off from his castle. Even her Ladyship seems keen to return,” he added, with a puzzled frown.

Castella exceeded even Kirryn’s wild imaginings. It was huge: a vast sprawling metropolis teeming with life like an ants nest. The cavalcade clattered along paved streets that were crowded with people all pushing and shoving at each other to get where they were going. A number of armed guards had accompanied the party from Riversmeet, and now two of them went ahead to clear the way while others flanked Lady Anarion and her two ladies-in-waiting. Lord Anarion dropped back to ride beside Kirryn, talking casually with Mentak over Kirryn’s head: much to Emil’s chagrin, forced, as he was, to ride right at the back with the remaining guards who were bringing up the rear.

Kirryn stared about him with fascination: there was so much to see, that he didn’t know where to look first. He had thought that Stonehaven was large; it was nothing in comparison with Castella. The houses were packed close together, built out over the streets until they nearly met above Kirryn’s head, making the street below dark and dim even in the light of day. Shopkeepers vied with each other over who could call out their wares the most loudly. Children and scruffy dogs scurried underfoot, weaving through the throng of people.

Smells assailed his nose: freshly baked bread, horse dung, sweat, the iron tang from a blacksmith’s shop, accompanied by the scent of burning hoof, meat as they passed a butcher’s shop—bloody carcasses hung on display, and a miasma of unidentifiable scents that lay under all.

Then, just as they reached a wide square, there was a sudden blare of trumpets, and a ripple seemed to run through the crowded streets. Then a cry went up, “Make way for the Prince, the Prince is coming. Make way, make way.”

There was a great clattering of many hooves, and from the opposite side of the square emerged a large number of uniformed men dressed in the bright blue of the royal house. The Riversmeet party drew to a halt, and Lord Anarion moved to the front of them, just as a man Kirryn could only imagine was the Prince himself rode into the square.

Around the square, men were bowing and ladies dropping to the ground in deep curtseys; a hush had fallen over all. The mass of mounted royal guards had halted, and now two horses were ridden forward. One was a jet-black stallion, who tossed his head imperiously. The other was a dappled grey palfrey, who was nearly as lovely as the woman riding it. She had long hair the colour of moonlight—which was held back by a simple circle of heavy silver—and a pale, beautiful face. They rode into the centre of the Riversmeet party and then halted. And Kirryn got his first up-close view of Prince Pavel.

From under his lashes as he bowed his head, Kirryn studied the prince with awe. He was, perhaps, rather younger than Lord Anarion, who Kirryn guessed was in his mid to late thirties. The prince’s hair was cut short in corn-gold waves that clung to his head, and he had the tanned skin of a man who spent much of his time outside. Against the brown of his skin, his blue eyes were all the more vivid; they crinkled at the corners as he broke into a wide smile of greeting.

“Well met, Lord Anarion,” the Prince’s voice rang out in the hushed square. “My sister and I thought to meet you.” 

Lord Anarion had bowed his head in deference. “Well met, your Highnesses. You do me and mine great honour by your kind attentions.”

“It was our pleasure,” Prince Pavel replied, before adding in an undertone, “and besides, I found myself needful of your company.”

Lord Anarion said one word, “Antare?”

“Aye, we have the hounds assembled, but whether we can keep them from each other’s throats remains to be seen,” the prince said softly. His eyes turned to the other members of the Riversmeet party. “Mentak!” he declared. “It is good to see you again,”

“Your highness is too kind,” Mentak murmured, bowing his head again.

Pavel’s gazed moved on...and fell on Kirryn. His eyes narrowed. “Fliss, my love, see what changeling Anarion has brought with him.”

The princess turned from where she had been quietly conversing with Lady Anarion. Her eyes widened as she took in Kirryn’s appearance; he flushed under their scrutiny, trying to hide himself behind his fringe.

“Pretty,” the Princess remarked with a gentle smile. “Where do you find them, Anarion?”

Kirryn had never in his entire life been called “pretty”, and it was with a face red with embarrassment that he followed after the royal party as they all made their way towards the palace. His mortification wasn’t helped by Mentak, who made scant effort to hide his amusement and uttered the word “pretty” in a whisper every now and again, followed by more stifled guffaws.

Kirryn’s duties were simple: he was to be at the beck and call of his master and mistress all evening. Should either of them want for anything, he had to be on hand to procure it for them. He was to run any errands that needed running and to take messages should any need to be delivered.

A room had been provided for himself, Mentak and Emil, and he quickly deposited his bag and changed into a freshly laundered shirt and trousers, and then donned the tunic.

“Very fine,” Mentak remarked, on catching sight of Kirryn scrutinising himself critically in a full-length mirror that was stood to one side of the room. “Pretty,” he added with a chuckle.

Kirryn pulled a face at Mentak’s reflection. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he was forced to admit, taking in Mentak’s attire. The older man was dressed in black trousers and tunic with a crisp, white linen shirt beneath. A short dress cloak was artfully hung from one shoulder, fastened by a large silver brooch. With his dark hair, pale skin and grey eyes, he looked very striking. “The ladies will be queuing up to dance with you.” Kirryn added.

Mentak grinned wolfishly. “That’s the idea, Kirryn, my boy.” 

“Are you ready,” a voice snapped. Emil stood glowering at Kirryn from the doorway.

Kirryn’s nerves returned full force and he took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling his face grow cold as the blood drained from it.

Mentak’s warm hand was steadying at the small of his back. “Come on, Pretty,” he whispered. “Just go out there, and remember everything I told you.”

They joined Lord and Lady Anarion at the top of a grand flight of stairs that led down to the great ballroom below, and Kirryn felt a burst of pride as he took in the sight of his master and mistress in full regalia.

They made a striking couple, both dressed in silver and black. Lord Anarion’s hair, every bit as pale and silvery as the princess’s, lay sleek and unbound on his shoulders; Lady Anarion’s was artfully arranged in curls and braids, bound around with silver-wire-strung diamonds. Her dress clung to her shapely figure, before billowing out in a froth of material that swept to the floor. Her ladies in waiting were dressed in silver dove grey to compliment their mistress. The fluttered around Lady Anarion, fussing with her gown until they felt satisfied with their mistress’s appearance, then they dropped behind, leaving Mentak and Kirryn to bring up the rear as the party made its way down the stairs.

The ballroom glittered with a thousand candles. Ladies fluttered like birds, their gowns of every hue imaginable. At one end of the room was a gallery where a group of musicians were tuning up their instruments. Uniformed pages, their house crest upon their tunics, darted here and there, busy on errands. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and Kirryn felt there was little to no chance of anyone hearing Lord and Lady Anarion’s names as they were announced to the assembly. 

Not long after the Riversmeet party had descended the stairs to the ballroom, the Prince and Princess arrived, and then the dancing began. The Prince and Princess led the first dance, a gavotte, and Lord and Lady Anarion soon joined them. At the end of the dance, however, Kirryn’s master and mistress went their separate ways. For a moment he stood, undecided, should he stay with Lord Anarion, or with Lady Anarion?

Mentak came to his rescue. “Stick with his Lordship,” he hissed. “Lady Anarion has her ladies to do her bidding.” He gave Kirryn a small push in the direction Lord Anarion was headed, and Kirryn hurried after his master’s retreating figure. 

Not only was the ballroom very noisy, but it was also very hot. Kirryn was kept busy for hours, running errands for Lord Anarion. Sometimes he was sent to deliver messages to other guests, thankful that he did not have to remember words, only deliver the folds of paper that Lord Anarion handed him. Other times he was sent for refreshment, and then Kirryn wistfully eyed the dishes of food and the jugs of wine.

Finally, Lord Anarion, Prince Pavel at his side, joined several other noblemen in an anteroom off the ballroom. His master turned to Kirryn. “I will not need you for a while. You may go and get some refreshment from the servants’ hall.” He nodded his head towards where some of the other pages were heading. “Be back by midnight, and then wait outside the room. You have done well,” he added quietly, with a smile on his lips.

Kirryn gazed into his master’s vivid blue eyes, and flushed with pride. “Thank you,” he whispered, before bowing deeply and turning to go.

As well as a desperate need for a drink and something to eat, Kirryn had other pressing matters to attend to. Asking directions from one of the other pages, he made his way to the latrines. On his way back to the servant’s hall, however, he took a wrong turning, and found himself in a deserted corridor. He stopped, trying to think where he might have gone wrong, and straining to hear any sound from the ballroom that might give him a clue about which direction to take.

It wasn’t music or the sound of merriment that he heard, however, it was a faint cry of fear. He stood stock still in the middle of the passageway, wondering desperately what he should do. Had the cry he’d heard really been one of fear? Or was the cry of a more amorous nature? Again the faint sound was heard, and this time Kirryn had no doubt that it was a cry of fright. 

It had seemed to emanate from a room a little further along the passage, where a door stood ajar, and Kirryn made his way towards it and hesitantly pushed open the door.

A tall man had one of the maids pressed up against the wall, one hand around her neck, the other on one of her breasts.

Without thinking, Kirryn surged into the room. “Stop that,” he yelled, “get away from her.”

The man slowly turned in Kirryn’s direction, and the girl took advantage of his loosened grip to slide from beneath the man’s hands and run from the room.

“Well, well,” the man said slowly in a voice like a velvet coated knife edge. “Quite the little hero, aren’t you? Still,” he went on, “Fish or fowl, it’s all the same to me.”  
The next second Kirryn was flung against the wall of the room, held there by some invisible force that pressed against him and prevented him from moving as little as a fingertip.

“My, and what a rare bird you are to be sure, archaun,” the man said, looming over Kirryn, his eyes glinting in the light of the single candle that lit the room.

Kirryn gazed fearfully at the man before him. Dark hair hung in waves of black to the man’s shoulders, framing a pale face. High cheekbones and a square jaw narrowed to a pointed chin, above which the man’s mouth twisted into a cruel smile. Black eyebrows winged over deep-set, penetrating eyes. A long, aquiline nose completed the face. It was the face of a handsome but cruel man.

From nowhere he produced a wicked looking stiletto blade and drew the point of it down Kirryn’s front. Kirryn felt the tip of the knife run down his skin like a drop of ice-cold water, and then his tunic and shirt fell open exposing his flesh to the predatory gaze of the man who held him captive. He tried to cry out, but his voice was as frozen as his body. The man grinned, his teeth white and oddly sharp; Kirryn could feel the warmth of the man’s breath on his cheek. The mouth moved closer, and for one horrible moment Kirryn thought the man was going to bite him.

“Get off him.”

The voice was cold and deadly.

The man slowly drew away from Kirryn. “Really, Anarion, there are plenty to go round, can’t you find one of your own.”

“As I am sure you aware,” Lord Anarion said, advancing into the room, “he is one of my own.”

“Yes, of course,” the man said slowly, his eyes flicking back to Kirryn. “You always did have a taste for the, ah....” he smiled nastily, “otherworldly. Ah, well,” he continued, “if this one is taken I must find another.” 

Abruptly, the force that was pinning Kirryn to the wall disappeared. He sank to his knees, gasping his relief at being free of the crushing feeling.

Lord Anarion’s eyes flicked to Kirryn, as if to check his servant’s well-being, then he returned his attention to the dark-haired man. “I don’t know what you are doing here,” he said coldly, “but I’m sure you do not have an invitation.”

The man pulled a rueful face. “Ah, indeed, it does seem that my invitation was misplaced; after all, I’m sure the Prince would not have intended to insult me by omitting me from the guest list. Still,” he went on, a note of affected boredom creeping into his tone, “there is little sport here, and I have business elsewhere.”

To Kirryn’s utter amazement, the man then simply winked out of existence. Seconds later, Mentak burst into the room. He came to a sudden halt on catching sight of his master. “My lord,” he gasped, “I was told there was trouble.”

“Lycopus,” Lord Anarion said shortly.

Kirryn gasped, recognising the name of Lady Anarion’s brother.

“Lycopus?” Mentak echoed. He looked quickly at Kirryn. “He didn’t….?” 

Lord Anarion shook his head. “No, I came in time.”

“How did you know?” Mentak asked, a frown on his face.

“He used the power…I felt the ripples and came as quickly as I could. See to him,” he added, with another glance at Kirryn. “I must speak to Pavel.” Abruptly he swung round and left the room, leaving Mentak and Kirryn alone.

“Are you all right? Mentak asked, crossing the room, and reaching a hand down to help Kirryn to his feet.

Kirryn seized it gratefully, still feeling a trembling in his knees. “I’m all right,” he answered shakily. “Was that really Lady Lynaria’s brother?”

“Indeed. And what that dog was doing here…” Mentak trailed off, and Kirryn thought that had he been anywhere else, Mentak would have spat. As it was, he swung the short dress cloak from his shoulders and draped it around Kirryn. “Come, I’ll take you back to the room.”

“I’m all right,” Kirryn began to protest. “I can do my job.”

Mentak gave a short laugh. “You might be able to, but I’m not sure your uniform is up to it.”

Suddenly recalling the feel of the knife tip running down his skin, Kirryn looked down at his clothes, an expression of dismay on his face. “Oh no, they’re ruined. What will Lord Anarion say? He’s sure to make me leave this time.”

Mentak stared at him, amazed. “Do you really think Lord Anarion will blame you for this?”

“Well,” Kirryn said slowly, “I was where I shouldn’t have been…by accident,” he added hurriedly, “and maybe I shouldn’t have… Do you know,” he went on querulously, “I think he was going to bite me?” He turned a shocked face up to Mentak.

“Bite you?” Mentak let out a harsh laugh, glancing down at Kirryn, then a puzzled, almost questioning expression stole over his face. Finally he slowly said, “Probably just trying to frighten you. Come,” he went on, “there is little enough left of the night, you won’t be missed. Let’s get back to our room…I’ll have a tray of food and some mulled wine brought up for us.”

Kirryn’s face brightened at the thought of food, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.


	10. Chapter Ten

The branches had long since lost their leaves, and the ground was covered with crisp drifts of them that crackled beneath Kirryn’s feet as he walked. Beneath the leaves, the earth was hard with frost. Kirryn meandered slowly between the great trunks of trees, aware that this was the last time he would have a chance to do so. There was to be an important meeting at the castle the following morning, and then first thing the day after they would be setting off for castle Anarion. His time until then would be taken up with preparations to leave.

Gwydion had been sent with a message to a neighbouring estate, so Kirryn was alone on his last ramble. In one way he was sorry not to have the company of his new friend, but then again he was used to being alone, and it gave him a chance to drink in the sights and scents of the woodland without distraction.

It was the unexpected darkening of the sky that gave Kirryn his first clue that something was wrong. Although it couldn’t have been much past three o’clock, it was as if night had suddenly fallen…or a great storm approached.

Kirryn peered up at the sky in alarm; he had always hated thunderstorms. For a moment he stood, undecided about whether he should cut short his last ramble and return to Riversmeet. His mind was made up when he heard a distant rumble of thunder, and a strong wind began to toss the branches of the trees. His heart beating fast, Kirryn turned and began to hurry towards the manor.

Before he had gone half a mile, however, the air around him began to pulse in a most unpleasant way. Kirryn gave up any pretence of courage, and began to run. He was in a part of the forest where there were stands of holly trees, closely packed and dense. He had to weave his way between them along narrow paths, and as he ran, the branches of prickly leaves seemed to reach out and grasp at him.

When the ground beneath his feet began to shake, Kirryn let out a hoarse cry of alarm. The leaves on the ground had been tossed into the air, swirling in a crazy dance. Half blinded by the flying leaves, Kirryn stumbled along. Ahead of him he could see the end of the holly thicket and beyond, the edge of the wood.

But before he could reach it, something charged out of another path and cannoned into him. Kirryn cried out as hands reached for, and held him. Then the world went completely black and the ground disappeared from beneath his feet. He screamed, vaguely hearing another voice cry out from by his side, then something hit his head hard and he knew no more.

When Kirryn came round, the first thing he noticed was the complete absence of sound: there was no thunder, no sound of wind-tossed branches, no crack of lightning. 

Slowly he opened his eyes…and discovered he was lying beneath the outstretched branches of a tree. But it rose higher than any tree Kirryn had ever seen before, and the silvery-coloured bark looked almost smooth.

Kirryn made to sit up, and then shut his eyes and sank back down with a groan, his head pounding and his stomach churning uncomfortably. 

“You took quite a knock to the head,” said a familiar voice. “And you’ll feel a little sick for a while from the shift.”

Kirryn forced open his eyes again to verify that it really was Lord Anarion who had spoken.

His master was crouched by his side, clad in his great fur cloak, a look of concern on his face. A hunting bow was slung on his back, and two leather bags and a wine skin hung from a belt round his waist. 

“Sh...shift?” Kirryn queried. He forced himself to sit up, and looked around. Wherever they were, they were definitely not in the Riversmeet woods. 

“Where...where are we?” he asked tremulously. 

“The Gadel’tir,” Lord Anarion answered shortly. “Here,” he went on, untying the wine skin and holding it out to Kirryn, “drink, it’ll help with the nausea.”

Kirryn gratefully took a gulp of the wine, and felt somewhat better when he handed the skin back. “Thank you,” he said with feeling. 

“Now,” Lord Anarion said, getting to his feet, “if you feel up to it, I really think we should be moving. We have knocked on the door, and now it is time to run away, quickly.” He reached a hand down to pull Kirryn to his feet.

Upright, Kirryn found that the feeling of sickness had nearly gone, but that his head still hurt badly, and he couldn’t quell a gasp of pain. 

Lord Anarion winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Kirryn. If I could delay, I would, but it is important we put as much distance as we can between our arrival point and ourselves as quickly as possible.” 

There were so many questions swirling around Kirryn’s head that he felt positively dizzy with them; unable to decide which to ask first, Kirryn simply gritted his teeth, and doggedly began to follow his master.

The woods through which they walked were beautiful, in a strange, alien way, and Kirryn didn’t recognise any of the trees they passed. The forest floor was covered with a short, luxuriant grass that stretched like a green rug between the huge, satin-smooth boles of the trees. No fallen leaves lay on its surface—although the branches above Lord Anarion and Kirryn were bare—and no fallen trees or branches barred their way.

And it was silent. Although Kirryn listened hard, he didn’t hear a single note of bird-song and there was no sign of fluttering movement overhead. It was like a land asleep, and Kirryn found himself trying to make as little noise as possible as he walked, almost as if he were afraid of waking something up. 

It was almost a relief when a faint sound broke the eerie silence. A sound that soon became recognisable as the babble of a swiftly flowing river.

“Ah, good. I was right,” Lord Anarion commented, almost to himself. “Now, if we follow the river we should end up where we need to be…if I am not mistaken.”

“Where…” Kirryn began. But Lord Anarion had set off once more, swiftly walking alongside the running water, and Kirryn had no choice but to follow if he did not wish to be left behind.

They walked until the sun began to set and the air around them became chill with frost. Kirryn pulled his cloak tightly around himself, and gazed wistfully at the thick furs that enveloped his master. 

Finally, Lord Anarion came to a halt. “We have done what we can,” he said. “Little enough, but still…” he trailed off. “This is as good a place as any,” he finally added, gazing around them. 

To their right the river flowed between low, grassy banks, to their left the trees stretched away until their trunks became indistinct in the gloom. They had stopped by one of the largest trees that they had come across, and two great raised tree roots provided a small sheltered spot between them for a makeshift camp.

“Shall I gather some firewood?” Kirryn asked, wondering as he did so just where he was going to find any.

Lord Anarion shook his head. “No, I dare not risk a fire, its light would be noticeable for miles.”

“Oh,” Kirryn said faintly. He was already chilled to the bone, and the prospect of a night with no fire dismayed him. Lord Anarion had seated himself in the crevice between the two roots, his back against the tree trunk. He patted the ground next to him, and Kirryn crept into the small space next to his master, and tried to stop his teeth from chattering. 

“Here.” Lord Anarion had been delving into one of the leather bags he carried, now he offered something to Kirryn. The delicious smell of roasted chicken reached Kirryn’s nose, and he took the proffered leg joint with a heartfelt thanks.

“It’s a good job I had the kitchen pack some food for me before I went hunting…and some wine,” Lord Anarion added, passing the wine skin to Kirryn. “Hopefully tomorrow will bring us out of the Gadel’tir and we may find some game.”

They ate in silence—Lord Anarion sharing his victuals with Kirryn—and then Lord Anarion stretched out on his side on the grass and shut his eyes. Kirryn brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to keep the last vestiges of warmth from escaping. 

For while Kirryn tried to distract himself from the cold by gazing at the star-strewn sky above them; there was not a single constellation that he recognised, and the very stars themselves seemed closer and brighter than they did in Allaria.

“Come here,” Lord Anarion said suddenly, making Kirryn jump. He held open a fold of his cloak, and gestured to Kirryn to get under it. For a moment Kirryn hesitated, but then Lord Anarion added, “I can hear your teeth chattering! I got you into this mess, the least I can do is ensure you don’t freeze to death...whatever other dangers might befall us,” he added under his breath.

With a sigh of relief, Kirryn lay down under the fold of cloak, the heavy fur was drawn over him, and then an arm pulled him back into the warm bow of Lord Anarion’s body.

It was odd, but strangely comforting to be held against the large body of his master, like being in a safe cocoon. The knot of tension that had screwed itself up tightly in Kirryn’s stomach began to unravel.

After a few moments Lord Anarion said, “I imagine you have several questions?”

“One or two,” Kirryn said dryly, without thinking.

Lord Anarion chuckled; a sound that reverberated through Kirryn’s back and tickled his insides.

“If you would like to ask them, Kirryn, I will do my best to answer.”

“Where are we... and how did we get here?” Kirryn asked promptly.

“We are in the Gadel’tir – the lonely land, or, to be more accurate, we are in Varul...the Gadel’tir is but a part of it.”

“Varul?”

“It...” Lord Anarion paused. “It is another land,” he said finally. “A long, long way from Allaria,” he added, a trace of bitterness in his voice.

“I, I see,” Kirryn said. “But how did we get here?”

“I have my suspicions,” Lord Anarion said, his voice now hard and cold. “It takes a great deal of magic to send someone from our world to this; there are not many capable of it.”

“But why us?”

“I’m afraid that you, Kirryn, were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time...although,” he went on reflectively, “he has seen your face...perhaps...” Lord Anarion trailed off into silence.

“Does no one live here?” Kirryn asked after a few moments.

“Hmm?” Lord Anarion said distractedly. “Oh, yes, we are not alone.”

Kirryn had thought the idea of there being other people out there in the dark night would be a comfort to him...make the land he found himself in just a little less foreign, but the way Lord Anarion had phrased his response did anything but comfort Kirryn.

“What’s out there?” Kirryn asked urgently, his voice rising with fear.

Lord Anarion’s arm tightened around him. “No monsters, Kirryn, relax...it is just that the people who do reside here are not like us, and they do not welcome visitors, especially those who have come uninvited. Now, if you have any more questions they will have to wait for the morning. It is time for us to get some sleep; we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Kirryn had thought that sleep would be a long time in coming, but before he knew it, he was being rolled out of his warm nest, and Lord Anarion was pulling him to his feet.

The day was dawning pearly-white, and a dense, low-lying mist stretched waist high between the trees. It gave Kirryn the odd feeling that he was wading through grey, insubstantial water. Soon, though, the sun rose, and mist was slowly melted by the faint, winter warmth.

Lord Anarion set a brisk pace, and the cold, which Kirryn had experienced on being turned out of the comfortable folds of his master’s fur cloak, was soon replaced by a healthy, warm glow. They ate on foot, dividing the last remnants of Lord Anarion’s food and wine.

For the first part of the morning they continued through the Gadel’tir, but just as the sun was reaching its highest point, they broke free of the trees and Kirryn looked out over a whole new land.

To their left, far in the distance, was a misty, purple-hued range of mountains that stretched away to the horizon. Before them the ground sloped slowly down to a wide plain. It was a wild, untamed land, with no sign of habitation or cultivation anywhere within sight, although the ground looked fertile enough to Kirryn. Here and there, lakes gleamed silver in the sunshine, and there were small patches of woodland that broke up the monotony of the landscape. But to Kirryn it looked desolate and unfriendly. He shivered, and drew his cloak more closely about himself.

The sudden sound of a released bow startled Kirryn, and he turned to see Lord Anarion with a grin on his face. “Lunch,” his master said, indicating to Kirryn’s left. Following Lord Anarion’s pointing finger, Kirryn made out small bundle of fur with an arrow protruding from it. He hurried to collect the rabbit, and returned with it, wiping the arrow clean on his cloak before handing it back to Lord Anarion.

“Why don’t the rabbits go into the wood, the Gadel’tir?” he asked.

Lord Anarion shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“But you’ve been here before?”

A shadow seemed to pass over Lord Anarion’s face. “Indeed,” he said shortly. Changing the subject completely he went on. “If we go on for a way we should find a hollow where we can light a fire. I don’t know about you, but I’m not all that keen on raw rabbit.”

About a mile further on, the river plunged into a narrow valley, filled with small birch trees. Lord Anarion gazed about them, and then nodded. “This should do. We must try to use dry wood so we don’t make too much smoke, but I think we should be safe enough in the daylight.”

Again Kirryn felt a tremor of fear run through him. Did the inhabitants of this land only come out at night? Thoughts of the Cedwyn Nos, the night walkers, came into Kirryn’s head.

As if he had read Kirryn’s mind, Lord Anarion said, “The people who live here prefer the night, they see better then, but they are not confined to the darkness.” He glanced across at Kirryn. “You must stop imagining demons behind every tree, Kirryn,” he said with slight smile. “Come on, concentrate on preparing that rabbit.”

Kirryn did as he was told, swiftly and skilfully dressing the animal whilst Lord Anarion built a small fire on which to roast it. Later, warmed inside by the roast meat, Kirryn felt emboldened to ask another question. “Why would someone want to send you here...you said they didn’t mean to send me, but why you?”

Lord Anarion sighed, and threw the rabbit bone he was chewing on into the fire. “You are aware that Allaria is being threatened again by the people in the land to the east of us?”

Kirryn nodded, he was aware, although it had seemed a far-away threat to him, and one that was not likely to affect him when he lived in Woodedge. Now, he supposed, he was on the front line, living at Castle Anarion, which guarded the only pass over the mountains between Allaria and Terra’lest.

“The last time there was trouble between the two lands, the houses of Allaria were strong—bound together under an oath of allegiance—and even then we only just prevailed against the invaders. Over time, however, that oath has weakened, and the houses are fragmented and lack solidarity. Only together do we have any hope of winning a war. The meeting at the palace was to have reaffirmed the bond between the houses...Pavel and I have worked hard towards this goal,” Lord Anarion said angrily, his frustration evident. “If I am not there to lead by example, then there is little to no chance of the others signing the pact.” 

He jumped to his feet, a dark frown on his face. “We have but one hope,” he said, stamping on the dying embers of the fire. “And that is that we can get back before the counsel starts.”

Kirryn himself frowned. Surely the meeting Lord Anarion was referring to had been the morning of this very day? He was given no time to puzzle further, however. Lord Anarion collected up the remains of the rabbit and packed them away in one of his bags, then he strode off down the riverbank, not even glancing back to see if Kirryn was following. With a small sigh, Kirryn scrambled to his feet, and set off after the retreating figure of his master.

They walked until the light began to fade, and Lord Anarion found a small, sheltered clearing a little way from the river’s side. They shared the last of the rabbit and some berries that they had found growing beside their path, then, once again, Lord Anarion lay down and Kirryn crept beneath the heavy, fur cloak to be drawn against his master’s warm body.

“Tell me about yourself, Kirryn,” Lord Anarion asked after a few minutes silence.

“There is not much to tell, really,” Kirryn answered, surprised by the question. “I was found washed up on the beach just along the coast from Marin…”

“Washed up on the beach?” Lord Anarion exclaimed.

“Yes. They think there had been a shipwreck—although no other wreckage was washed ashore. I was in a wooden cradle, which had floated like a little boat. The people who found me first were just about to push me back into the water when…”

“Push you back into the water? Why?”

“They…they had seen my eyes and…”

“Ah.” The simple syllable said it all: it expressed understanding and sympathy, and the arm around Kirryn pulled him slightly closer.

Kirryn continued his story. “There was another man on the beach, Turais, he stopped them from returning me to the sea, and took me home with him to Woodedge. Master Turais was a collector; I think he sort of ‘collected’ me: I was enough of an oddity.” He paused, thinking back to his life spent with the man who had brought him up. Turais had been caring enough in his way, but his life had been his books and his collections, and Kirryn was, in a lot of respects, just another acquisition.

“He taught me to read and to write, but he was a man who preferred his own company. Perhaps, if he had been more outgoing…” Kirryn paused again.

“You had little contact with the villagers?” Lord Anarion asked quietly.

Kirryn nodded. “Perhaps, if they had been given a chance to get to know me…”

“They might have accepted you? So, why did you leave Woodedge?

“Master Turais died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“His property went to a distant cousin, and I was made aware that my presence in the village was not welcome anymore—they had tolerated me for the sake of Master Turais. He was a respected, learned man.” Kirryn took a deep breath. “I knew there was a hiring fair in Stonehaven so I packed the few things I had and…and the rest you know.”

“Mentak hired you, and brought you to me,” Lord Anarion finished.

There was something in the way his master said ‘brought you to me’ that made Kirryn feel all warm inside. “I have never…never been as happy as I have been at the castle, and at Riversmeet. Everyone has accepted me, despite what I look like.”

“I judge a man by his actions, not by his looks,” Lord Anarion said firmly. “Those in my employ learn to do the same.”

It was Kirryn’s turn to ask a question. “Where are we going?”

“We are headed towards the coast, and hopefully a way home,” Lord Anarion answered.

“How long will it take us to get there?” Kirryn asked.

“A week, possibly slightly longer...although I have some idea where we are, I am not absolutely sure.”

“Can’t you just use your powers to get us home?” Kirryn asked tentatively, remembering Gwydion telling him about his master’s reluctance to use his magical abilities.

“Oh, Vicia! Why didn’t I think of that?” Lord Anarion said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “Do you honestly think I wouldn’t have done just that, had I been able? A trek through Varul with one of my servants was not high on my list of priorities,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry,” Kirryn said in a small voice, “I should have thought...it was a stupid thing to say.

Lord Anarion sighed. “No, Kirryn, it is I who should be sorry for being rude. It was wrong to mock your ignorance. I cannot use my powers to get us home; Varul has a sort of one-way system. You can use magic to get in, but once here, magic is useless, it doesn’t work.”

“Then how are we to return to Allaria?” Kirryn dared to ask.

“There is a portal—a doorway—between our two wor...lands, on an island just off the coast. Hopefully we shall find our way back home.”

“But…” Kirryn began.

“Sshh, Kirryn. No more questions tonight, it is time for sleep,” Lord Anarion said gently.

Kirryn closed his eyes and, almost unconsciously, pressed back closer to his master’s body. He dropped into sleep almost immediately thereafter.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The following day the weather closed in on them. 

Lord Anarion shot another rabbit, and after a hasty breakfast they set off once again, following the course of the river wherever possible. Occasionally they had to trek some distance out of their way when the river plunged into a rocky, sheer chasm. Each time they were forced out of their way, Lord Anarion’s lips tightened with frustration.

As they walked the sky grew darker and darker. Kirryn cast nervous glances around him and sniffed the air.

“Snow,” he said at last.

“What?” Lord Anarion asked distractedly, his mind obviously on other matters.

“Snow,” Kirryn repeated. “I can smell snow on the wind.”

Now Lord Anarion looked at the sky, as if suddenly recalled to their situation. “Vicia!” he swore. “That is all we need. I suppose it may hold off some time yet.” He sounded unconvinced, and set off again at an even greater pace.

Kirryn did not agree with his master. He senses told him that snow was coming, and soon. He began to look around them as they walked, hoping to spot some shelter. Lord Anarion’s cloak may well keep out the chill of frost, but they would need proper protection if they were to survive a snowstorm.

The first brittle chips of snow stung against Kirryn’s cheek, driven on a freezing wind that seemed to blow straight through Kirryn. But Lord Anarion showed no sign of stopping.

Kirryn bit his lip. When he had lived in Woodedge he had spent much of his time out of doors, playing by himself in the great forests. He had learnt to read the weather, to understand when he should seek shelter, or when the storm would pass quickly...and right now he was desperate to seek shelter. 

The snow grew thicker, and finally Kirryn plucked up the courage to speak. “My Lord?”

Lord Anarion was some way ahead of him, and the vicious wind stole Kirryn’s voice and whisked it away. He called again. “My Lord!”

Lord Anarion finally heard him, and turned. “I know, we have to find shelter, but where we shall find it, I do not know.”

Kirryn was equally concerned. Although he had been scouting for somewhere they could wait out the storm, they had been walking through wide water meadows for the best part of the morning, and nowhere had offered itself as sanctuary.

They came out of nowhere, materialising out of the falling snow like wraiths. They were certainly as silent as wraiths; no sound of hooves in the snow, no creak of harness, no cry of challenge. One minute they were alone, the next minute Lord Anarion and Kirryn were surrounded by a ring of mounted men.

They were dressed from head to foot in black. Heavy fur cloaks—very similar to that worn by Lord Anarion—hung from their shoulders, and close-fitting leather and silver helmets covered their faces from view. For long moments the riders simply stared at them in silence, neither they nor their mounts making a sound.

Then one of the riders swung down off his horse and paced towards them, reaching to undo the straps on his helmet as he did so. 

Kirryn gasped as the man’s face was finally revealed: skin so white as to be nearly translucent, the faint blue of veins showing clearly at the man’s temples; eyes as pale and glowing as a full moon, the pupils seeming overlarge in the milky irises; the man’s hair was as dark as Kirryn’s own, clinging to his skull like a pelt of soft, black fur, revealing strange, pointed ears. He was tall, taller even than Lord Anarion, and he had the build of a fighter. He loomed over them both as he drew near, halting a scant foot away.

Kirryn’s eyes widened with shock and his mouth dropped open.

Before him stood the stuff of nightmares; a creature used to frighten children and adults alike, every bit as often as the Cedwyn Nos were: a Diavol—a wolven—a predator of the highest order. They came from who knew where, drawn by the promise of battle and slaughter. Born and bred to fight, it was said, entering a sort of battle lust that would see them rend an opponent apart with their claws and their teeth should they find themselves without a weapon of steel to wield. 

“Fay’eth.” The Diavol’s voice was low pitched, and Kirryn felt it as well as heard it. It was like a hand stroking soft fur, and it seemed to thrum through his body. The Diavol was looking intently at Lord Anarion, a slight frown on his brow.

And then Kirryn reeled in shock for a different reason.

“Thane,” Lord Anarion said softly. For a moment the two men stared at each other, the next moment they were embracing.

There was a palpable lessening of tension in the riders surrounding them. Thane broke away from Lord Anarion with a wide grin…that did nothing to calm Kirryn’s nerves, for it revealed large, sharp canines that fitted neatly into a gap in the Diavol’s lower set of teeth.

“I had not thought to see you again, astkear, you are far from home.”

“It’s a long story,” Lord Anarion began.

“And one I shall be glad to hear, but not now. Now we must ride like the wind if we are to reach shelter before this snow turns into a blizzard,” Thane said, a note of urgency entering his strange voice. 

Two riderless horses were now led forward, and before Kirryn had time to think he was mounted on one of the great beasts, Lord Anarion beside him on the other. Thane remounted his own horse, and an instant later the whole troop of riders wheeled around and set off at a hard gallop.

It was a good job that Kirryn’s mount seemed to need no guidance, content to simply follow the others, because Kirryn was wholly occupied with simply staying in the saddle. This thundering, huge animal was totally unlike the well-trained, quiet mount that had carried him from castle Anarion to Riversmeet, although Kirryn had to admit that once he had become used to the frantic speed, the horse’s gait was as smooth as silk, more a glide than a gallop, and he wondered briefly if the horse was all horse, or whether something was mixed into its breeding. Shivering, he quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

They rode hard until the light had faded from the day, and night had fallen pitch black around them, and still they thundered on, the horses seemingly tireless, through the increasingly thickly falling snow. Kirryn wondered blearily how the leaders could see where they were going, until he remembered Lord Anarion saying that those that dwelt in this land could see better at night.

His weariness began to overwhelm Kirryn. He lost his fear of falling from the horse; instead the smooth gait lulled him, rocking him like a cradle rocks an infant. His head began to nod and his eyes to close.

“Wake up,” a voice said urgently from his side, and a gauntleted hand grabbed at Kirryn’s shoulder.

Kirryn jerked back into consciousness to find that he had sagged dangerously low in his saddle. One of the Diavol, noticing, had pulled alongside his mount and saved him from falling.

“Not far now,” the Diavol added. “Try to stay awake; I will stay by your side.”

Kirryn nodded his thanks, but his brush with danger had scared him into wakefulness and he twined the horse’s mane tightly in his hands. 

Thankfully the Diavol riding at his side had been right. Only a short while later Kirryn caught sight of lights flickering in the distance and soon they were pulling up, breath steaming in the cold night air, in a wide courtyard. Men came running to take the reins of their mounts and Kirryn slid with a grateful sigh from his horse’s back…and straight onto his arse on the cold ground.

There was laughter from the Diavol around him, but Kirryn didn’t care, he was too tired and too sore to worry what anyone might think of him. All he wanted to do was to lie down and go to sleep.

Thane stretched down a hand and hauled him to his feet. “A bath, food, a mug or two of ale and then bed for you, my lad,” he said with a smile, teeth glistening in the lamplight.

Kirryn found his way to Lord Anarion’s side through the press of men, and then followed the group indoors. They entered a long, stone-built building, through the middle of which stretched a corridor lit by smoky torches that flickered and guttered in the wind that blew in with them. 

Thane led them along the passageway until it was bisected by another; the rest of the Diavol took the left hand turn, whilst Thane led Lord Anarion and Kirryn along the right hand corridor. Ten yards further on he stopped by a door. 

“I think you’ll be comfortable here,” Thane said with a smile.

“My old quarters,” Lord Anarion said softly, piquing Kirryn’s curiosity still further. Already a multitude of questions were rattling around in his head, and he wondered whether his master would permit him to ask any of them.

There were two rooms beyond the door. In the main room a fire had been laid in a large fireplace, waiting for a spark to light it. Without being asked, Kirryn crossed to the hearth and applied his tinder and flint: seconds later the dry kindling was crackling. Kirryn held out his hands to the warmth.

“We can do better than that,” Lord Anarion said, throwing off his fur cloak. “Come along, Kirryn, there is not much time before we eat—just enough for a hot bath to soak away our aches and pains and thaw out our bones!”

Lord Anarion disappeared through a doorway into what was obviously a bedchamber, Kirryn followed, not sure what he was supposed to be doing. Waiting on Mentak had been one thing, playing valet to his master quite another. But by the time Kirryn entered the bedroom, Lord Anarion had made a good start on undressing himself, throwing his clothes onto a nearby chair.

“Hurry up, get undressed,” he ordered Kirryn.

Kirryn’s mouth fell open. “What?” he managed to ask.

“Bath,” Lord Anarion said, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. He turned to face Kirryn as he went continued stripping. “The Varulfur have the benefit of hot springs to bathe in.”

“The...the Varulfur?” Kirryn echoed.

“You might know them as the Diavol.” Lord Anarion grinned at Kirryn’s expression, “But here, in their own land, they are called the Varulfur.” 

Kirryn’s mouth opened in dismay. Not only was he in another land a long way from home, but apparently that land was the very home of the Diavol.

Lord Anarion tossed aside the last of his clothing, and now Kirryn’s jaw hung limply for another reason; before him stood his lord and master, naked, and beautiful. The sight caused all sorts of strange feelings in Kirryn’s body. His stomach seemed to be full of hopping frogs, his mouth was suddenly dry, his skin prickled, his heart pounded in his chest, he felt light-headed all of a sudden...and his cock swelled in his trousers.

Lord Anarion must have noticed something was amiss. He hurriedly crossed to Kirryn’s side, putting his arm around Kirryn’s shoulders and guiding him to sit down on the edge of the large bed. 

“Here, sit down,” he said, his voice full of concern. “I’m sorry, I should have made allowances; everything is very new and strange to you, and you have just come in from the cold—that often makes one feel dizzy.”

“I...I’m fine,” Kirryn managed to gasp, “it’s just...” he struggled to think of some reason for feeling as he did, finally grasping onto the excuse Lord Anarion had put forward. “It must be as you say, the change from cold to warm...I’m sorry...a moment, I’ll be well again I’m sure.”

“Maybe it would be better if you forgo the bath?” Lord Anarion wondered with a frown.

“No, no,” Kirryn hastened to say. The prospect of a hot bath to soak away the cold was one he was looking forward to. He struggled to his feet and began to strip off his own clothing. Lord Anarion watched him intently for a few moments, and then reached for two white woollen robes that were hung on a row of pegs behind the door. He handed one to Kirryn, and then donned his own. 

As soon as Kirryn had tied the cord of his robe, Lord Anarion hurried them from the room. They went back to the point where the corridors crossed, and then continued on, following the path the Diavol, or as Kirryn now knew them to be, the Varulfur, had taken. Doors led off the corridor at regular intervals, but they passed them all, finally reaching a door that blocked the end of the passageway. Lord Anarion ushered Kirryn through, and then ran into him when Kirryn stopped short to take in the sight before him.

The door led outside to another large courtyard enclosed by stone walls. A pathway ran around the circumference of the square and fringed a large pool of water from which tendrils of steam were drifting lazily into the frigid night air. A number of the Varulfur were already lounging in the water, seemingly oblivious to the falling snow.

Kirryn enjoyed bathing, but it had always been a solitary occupation; either in the little scullery off Turais’ kitchen, or in one of the four small rooms, each containing a tin bath, at castle Anarion. 

Lord Anarion gave Kirryn a little push, but to Kirryn’s dismay he realised he had already been noticed. Eyes were turning in his direction, and several of the Varulfur were grinning. One of them called out. Lord Anarion replied in what was obviously the Varulfur’s own language, for it caused much laughter. The Varulfur spoke again, a wide grin on his face.

“What is he saying,” Kirryn asked his master anxiously.

“He is wondering why you are so nervous, and assuring you that you have nothing he has not seen before,” Lord Anarion told him with a laugh. Then, more softly, he added, “Really Kirryn, there is nothing to be afraid of...they are made just like we are.”

Kirryn blushed, but followed suit when Lord Anarion removed his robe and placed it on one of the number of benches that stood against the courtyard wall. Then, trying not to take notice of the eyes that followed him, he made his way down shallow steps into the pool.

It was bliss; the water was a perfect temperature, neither too hot nor too cold, and soon Kirryn had completely forgotten the other inhabitants of the pool, simply luxuriating in the feeling of warmth that permeated his body and soothed his aching muscles. All too soon, it seemed, it was time to get out, and it was only with great reluctance that Kirryn followed his master out into the cold. The heat from the water took a lot of the chill from the air surrounding the pool, but Kirryn was glad to wrap his woollen robe around himself.

When they returned to their room, Kirryn found that their clothes had been taken away and replaced with Varulfur clothing. Heavy woollen trousers decorated with leather, a shirt made from what Kirryn could only guess was some sort of fine wool, and a padded woollen jacket, all in black. Fine black woollen stockings kept his feet snug in the black leather boots that had also been provided. Someone had made a good guess at his size, because all of the clothing fit. To complete the outfit there was a heavy fur cloak, just like the one his master wore.

Kirryn handled it with awe. “Is all this really for me?” he asked, wide eyed.

Lord Anarion nodded. “And if well looked after, it will last you for years,” he said, unconsciously stroking a hand over the fur of his own cloak, thus confirming what Kirryn had suspected since he had first seen the Varulfur: Lord Anarion had acquired his cloak from them.

On top of the pile of clothing had been a tooled leather belt, on which hung a sheathed dagger. Kirryn looked at it warily.

Lord Anarion noticed his hesitance. “It is simply part of the dress, Kirryn. The Varulfur would no more go out without a weapon than they would without trousers.” As he spoke, Kirryn’s master was buckling on his own belt.

“Come,” Lord Anarion went on. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ravenous.”

He led the way to a large dining room, once more showing his familiarity with the layout of the building. One long table stood in the middle of the room, flanked on either side by benches. A large number of the Varulfur were already seated, and two places had been reserved for them at the end of the table next to Thane. They took their seats just as servants began to bring in trays of food. Once again Kirryn noticed that he was being subjected to a number of enquiring, curious looks. It appeared that even here, amongst a people who were themselves strange, he was seen as an oddity. 

The meal passed uneventfully for Kirryn. The food served was rich, hot and wholesome: a thick stew with plenty of lumps of meat that Kirryn was relieved to be able to identify as beef, and hot, crusty bread. There was also cheese served on huge wooden platters, a great wedge of which Thane deposited on Kirryn’s plate. It was crumbly and tasty, and Kirryn cut his piece into bits and ate them with the bread thickly spread with yellow-gold butter.

Thane and Lord Anarion spoke quietly together, so Kirryn was left to eat his meal in peace...and to wonder just how Lord Anarion and Thane knew one another.

The air in the room grew hotter and stuffier, and the Varulfur more and more rowdy as the jugs of ale were refilled over and over. Kirryn could hardly keep his eyes open... and wasn’t able to keep his mouth closed as he yawned spectacularly, to the amusement of those around him. Their laughter drew the attention of his master, and with a word to Thane, he rose and gestured to Kirryn that it was time to go.

Back at their room, Lord Anarion waived away Kirryn’s half-hearted attempt to act the part of valet. “No, you go to bed, I may sit up a while yet,” he said, seating himself in one of the chairs by the fire, that had been built up whilst they had been out. “You’ll find a bed beneath mine, just roll it out; it’ll have been made ready.” 

Kirryn made his way into the bedroom, taking with him a candle to light the way, then he quietly closed the door between the two rooms and went to find his bed. 

It was a clever arrangement. The little bed was tucked beneath the large one, and could be rolled out on neat wooden wheels. Kirryn pulled it away until it was pushed against the wall on the far side of the room, well away from the main bed so there was no chance of his master falling over him if he needed to get up in the night. It had indeed been made up with covers and a thick fur coverlet, and with a sigh of utter exhaustion, Kirryn blew out the candle, crept beneath the covers and no sooner had his head hit the pillow, than he was sound asleep.

He awoke some time in the night. The room was in darkness, but a faint glimmer of light from the fire in the other room crept beneath the bedroom door. Kirryn was about to shut his eyes again, when the murmur of voices reached his ears. Not really knowing why, he stole out of bed and went to press his ear against the door.

He heard Thane’s voice.

“...difficult, but shouldn’t be impossible. I doubt this storm will abate for at least two days, but after that we should have three, maybe four days clear, enough time to get to the gateway.”

“It’s good to hear it will not be too much of a problem to get us home again, and in time.”

His master’s voice.

“No, no problem to get you back...but we do have another problem.”

“Which is?”

“The boy.”

Kirryn pricked up his ears even further. 

“The boy? You mean Kirryn?” 

Kirryn could hear the incredulity in Lord Anarion’s voice.

“What problem could Kirryn cause?”

“The scent of his innocence rolls off him in waves; it’ll drive my men mad for him; there’ll be blood spilt over him if we’re not careful.”

Kirryn was embarrassed, confused and alarmed, all at once. What could Thane mean?

When Lord Anarion spoke again, there was disbelief in his voice. “I knew, from something Mentak said, that he was innocent in some matters of sex, but you say he is completely innocent? A virgin?”

“Aye. Already there are looks being cast in his direction. They will fight over him,” Thane stated bluntly. “Cooped up here with the scent of him all around...I cannot guarantee his safety, Fay’eth. And I cannot afford to lose any of my men, not with things the way they are. You will have to...remedy matters.”

“Remedy? ...Oh, I see.”

“If you will find that a problem, then I...”

“Oh, no, no problem,” Lord Anarion interrupted. “It is only that...”

The sound of knocking reached Kirryn’s ears, then the sound of the outer door being opened. Somebody outside said something, and then Thane spoke again.

“Very well, I’ll come now. I must go, Fay’eth. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kirryn heard the door close, and then the scrape of wooden legs on the floor as his master pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Kirryn scampered back to his bed and was lying, with the covers over his head, when Lord Anarion pushed open the bedroom door.

Long after Lord Anarion had fallen asleep, Kirryn gazed into the darkness, worried and confused. So, it had not been his strangeness that had drawn the attention of the Varulfur, but his virginity. It was certainly not by choice that Kirryn had not lost his virginity, but the occasion to do so had simply not arisen. Most of the girls in Woodedge would rather cross the street than walk past him, let alone bed with him. And since he had been at castle Anarion...well, there had not been any girl who had interested him; indeed, he had found his thoughts more often full of his master than of any girl.

But why was his virginity such a problem anyway? Surely it was no one’s business but his own? Why should it cause the Varulfur to fight about him? And the thought that occurred to him more frequently than all of the others vying for his attention: just how was he to lose it here? He had not seen any sign of a girl. 

Kirryn was sure that he wouldn’t sleep again that night, but at some time the bringer of dreams must have visited him, for he was woken by his master shaking him gently.


	12. Chapter Twelve

“Wake up, Kirryn; breakfast.”

Kirryn did not want to go to breakfast. His stomach complained at that thought, but he still pulled the covers over his head and wondered if he could fain illness.

“Come on, Kirryn!” Lord Anarion called from the door of the room. “Your bit is getting cold, and if you don’t come soon I shall eat it myself.”

There had been no time for Lord Anarion to get to the dining room and back, which must mean... Kirryn sprang out of bed, and rushed into his clothes. 

In the other room a large tray had been brought in containing all manner of delicious things: porridge and toasted bread and bacon and sausages. Kirryn tucked in with gusto.

“Thane thought we might care to eat in our rooms, so had a tray brought,” Lord Anarion remarked, watching Kirryn with an amused smile. When Kirryn had finished eating, and a servant had come to take the tray away, he spoke again. “I’m sure you have many questions, and as we are unable to continue our journey for the time being, and have no demands upon our time...” he paused, one eyebrow raised in enquiry.

“Are they really the Diavol?” Kirryn asked, deciding to leave his more embarrassing questions until later.

“They are; although, as I told you last night, they are more properly called the Varulfur.”

Kirryn frowned. “They are not at all like I expected. I mean, they look very fierce, but they seem to be quite ordinary really.”

Lord Anarion smiled. “Much as you yourself, Kirryn. Maybe not fierce in your case, but certainly different. You must never judge a man by his appearance alone.”

“You told me that once before,” Kirryn said slowly. “So, this—this land, is where they live?”

“It is.”

“And do they really just appear when there is a battle?”

“They are...they are a volatile people,” Lord Anarion said, obviously choosing his words with care. “They need the outlet of battle to release their aggressive tendencies, otherwise they would fight each other, and before too long there would be no Varulfur left. A long time ago, the Varulfur found themselves on the brink of wiping themselves out; they had warred between village and clan and even family for so long... and then they discovered the doorways, the places they could cross from their land to other lands, and beyond those doorways they found wars aplenty. I suppose in a way they are like mercenaries, although they do not require money for their services. They will never start a war, but they are happy enough to join in when one occurs.”

“Is that...is that how you met Thane?”

Lord Anarion’s expression became reflective. “It is. My father’s brother held the castle at Marin, on the coast. One year a rumour grew that a large force of pirates was drawing near, bent on taking Marin and using it as their own headquarters. My uncle sent for my father’s assistance, his own people being largely merchantmen rather than soldiers. I accompanied my father, and then along the way we ran into a large group of men...”

“The Varulfur?” Kirryn interrupted.

“As it turned out, yes. They asked to join our troops, and my father was happy to have them along.”

“And Thane was with them?”

“Thane was their leader.”

Kirryn was surprised. “He must have been very young?”

Lord Anarion laughed. “No, not so very young. Although he looks much the same age as I, Thane is much older.”

Lord Anarion got to his feet and went to look out of the window, even though there was nothing to see through the whirl of heavily falling snow. Kirryn waited for his master to go on with the story, sure that he was about to be told something important.

“He singled me out,” Lord Anarion said after a long silence. “I was intrigued, flattered to be of interest to such a formidable soldier; I was not much older than you, and used to being overlooked by the more seasoned men, despite the fact that I was one of Lord Anarion’s sons. By day he and I would ride together, by night we would sit at the same campfire, and our bedrolls would be side by side. Then one day we were hunting, and became separated from the rest of the column—later I knew it was not by chance—and by the time darkness fell we were on our own. That night he took me to his bed.”

Kirryn gasped. “He...he what?”

Lord Anarion turned away from the window to face him. “He took me to his bed,” he repeated, “and I was happy to go. Kirryn, two men can bring each other as much pleasure in bed as a man and a woman may.”

Kirryn struggled to understand what his master was telling him. “You mean, that two men...they have...sex together?” The words were difficult and embarrassing to get out, but Kirryn somehow knew it was very important that he did so.

Lord Anarion nodded. “Yes, Kirryn. Indeed, some men only ever have sex with other men. Thane is such a man.”

“But you...” Kirryn managed to get out, before awkwardly trailing into silence.

“I am not such a man.” Lord Anarion said, before adding something under his breath that Kirryn did not catch. 

For a few long minutes Kirryn stared at his hands clasped between his knees, trying to take in all that had been said. There were several questions which immediately sprang into his mind, foremost among them was “how?” How did two men have sex with each other? But he was not ready to ask that question of his master. Instead he asked a less embarrassing one: “How did you come to visit Varul?”

“Thane and his men left as soon as the battle for Marin was won. I was bereft. I had fallen more in love with him than I had ever been in love before. I was already well trained in the arts of an Adept, but it still took me over a year before I was able to find a way to follow Thane into his world.”

He turned away again, and Kirryn got the impression that this was a difficult subject for his master to talk about.

“When someone forces their way into Varul, the Varulfur know...” Lord Anarion continued.

“That’s why you said what you did!” Kirryn interrupted again. “When we first arrived in the...the...”

“The Gadel’tir.”

“The Gadel’tir...about us having knocked on the door and now it was time to run away!”

Lord Anarion smiled tightly. “Indeed. As soon as they sensed us, an intercept party would have been sent to the place we arrived. We did well; I lasted half a morning before I was picked up.”

“What did they do when they found you?”

“Luckily there were a couple of Varulfur in the party who had been with Thane when he joined with my father, so they knew me. They took me to him...it was then I found that he is important amongst his people, a prince if you like. It is a good job he was; I doubt they would have bothered to do more than slit my throat otherwise.”

Kirryn was aghast. “Really?”

“They don’t like strangers—uninvited ones even less so. Part of the reason they have no compunction about slaughtering us in battle is because our lives mean nothing to them.”

“But,” Kirryn was struggling to understand, “if you know Thane, then why were you worried about them finding us this time? Surely you knew they would just take us to him?”

Lord Anarion smiled ruefully. “Thane and I did not part on good terms.” He came back and retook his seat by the fire, throwing on a log from the basket to one side, which caused sparks to spit and crackle.

“Wasn’t he pleased to see you?” Kirryn asked cautiously.

“Oh, he was pleased enough to see me, although somewhat amused that I thought so much of him to force my way into his world. I stayed with him for the best part of a year.”

“A year?! But didn’t your family miss you?”

“I was the younger son. I had always been quieter than my brother: I preferred reading to fighting, which didn’t sit well with my father. He knew where I was, but my actions weren’t of great importance to him. No, his attention was taken up with grooming my older brother to succeed him as Lord of castle Anarion. Then my brother was lost.”

“Lost?”

“He was out hunting in the mountains with a group of his friends; it was unseasonably warm for the time of year and there was an avalanche. He and several of his party were swept away.” Lord Anarion’s eyes were fixed on the fire. “Of course my father searched, scoured the mountains, dug through drifts of snow, but no trace of him or the others was ever found. So suddenly I was needed. I had to take over the position of eldest son, and that meant responsibility. I was summoned home. 

I was young, I fancied myself in love; I did not want to go. I told the messenger that he could tell my father that I was not going to return to live out my life as someone who was always going to fail to measure up to the one whose place I had to take.” 

His master’s voice had become bitter as he spoke, and Kirryn winced in sympathy for the young Lord Anarion.

“It was Thane who made me return and assume my duties. He told me that whilst our relationship had been amusing for a time, now he was bored of it, and no longer wished me dangling round his neck.”

Kirryn gasped in shock. “How could he be so mean?”

“He had to be, don’t you see?” Lord Anarion turned now to gaze intently at Kirryn. “I was hurt deeply at the time, said harsh things to him that I later regretted when I came to realise that he didn’t mean what he’d said. But he knew that he had to push me away to make me leave him and do my duty to my father. Sometimes we have to do things that we would much rather not,” Lord Anarion finished softly. 

Again silence fell between them. It was not a comfortable silence; Kirryn sensed that his master was finally about to bring up the subject he had been speaking about with Thane the previous night, and he really did not want to be discussing the subject of his virginity with his master.

“Kirryn,” Lord Anarion began.

Kirryn’s fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms; he bit his lip as a flush of mortification stained his face. He kept his eyes fixed determinedly on the floor.

“Kirryn, look at me please.”

Kirryn reluctantly raised his eyes to meet the intense turquoise gaze of his master.

“There is something we need to talk about...” Lord Anarion jumped to his feet and began to distractedly pace the room. “There is no easy way to say this, so I will be forthright: you are a virgin.”

“I know,” Kirryn said dryly. 

Lord Anarion whipped round and stared at him, then his lips creased and he smiled. “You constantly take me by surprise,” he exclaimed with a short laugh.

Kirryn grinned in response, having been rather surprised himself at his own comment, which had sprung from his lips before he had consciously formed the thought. The laughter broke the tension in the room, and Lord Anarion seated himself again. 

“Unfortunately, that virginity is a problem,” he said. “The Varulfur, well, they prize the taking of virginity very highly: it is considered a great honour among their people. And so the fact that you are a virgin...well, that makes them, erm, interested in you.”

“Even though I am not a Varulfur?” Kirryn asked shakily.

“Virginity is virginity, whomever it belongs to,” Lord Anarion confirmed. “And as long as you remain a virgin, then it is going to cause tension. If there were any other way, Kirryn...I hate to ask this of you...”

Kirryn swallowed. “I have to lose my virginity?” 

Lord Anarion nodded. “I’m so sorry, Kirryn, but Thane’s men will fight each other for the right to be your first as long as you remain a virgin.”

“And there are no girls here, so it has to be to a man?” Kirryn said, putting two and two together.

Again Lord Anarion nodded.

“Who?” Kirryn croaked.

Lord Anarion looked surprised. “Why, I thought that I...of course, if you would rather someone else...”

Kirryn was shocked beyond belief, for two reasons. The first was that he had never thought his master would take on such a task himself, and the second was the way in which his body reacted at the thought of being taken to Lord Anarion’s bed. 

“I can ask Thane if...” Lord Anarion was continuing.

“No!” Kirryn interrupted him forcefully. “No, please, I’d much rather it was you...if it has to be anyone.”

“Of course.” Lord Anarion’s face went serious. “I will try to make this as easy as possible for you, Kirryn, but I have to tell you that the first time can be...uncomfortable. But if you will trust me....”

Kirryn looked his master in the eye. “I do trust you,” he said. “Completely.”

Lord Anarion’s eyes flicked towards the bed in the other room. “Then perhaps we should...?”

Kirryn slowly got to his feet, trying to stop himself from shaking. He had been surprised to find that his body had become aroused at the thought of having sex with his master—his cock had risen in the confines of his trousers, and butterflies danced in his stomach, much as they had the night before when he had first seen Lord Anarion naked—but that did not mean he felt at all ready to do what had to be done.

Lord Anarion stretched out a hand to him, and Kirryn reluctantly took it and allowed himself to be drawn into the bedroom. Lord Anarion closed the door behind them, and put the little chock of wood in the latch, thus ensuring they wouldn’t be disturbed. He turned back to face Kirryn.

“Kirryn, you know, just because this has been forced on you, doesn’t mean it cannot be a pleasurable experience...unless you would just prefer to get it over with?”

Kirryn bit his lip, torn. On the one hand, he was so embarrassed about everything that he simply wanted it to be over and done with, on the other was the thought that this was his first time, and he wanted it to be a time to remember.

“It is a shame your first time has to be like this,” Lord Anarion said, as if he had guessed Kirryn’s thoughts. “It should be a time you remember with fondness...perhaps if you let me...?” He trailed off, watching Kirryn intently.

“It will only be my first time once,” Kirryn finally said slowly. “I think I’d rather it was a good memory as not.”

He had lain within the circle of his master’s arms and slept, but that feeling had been totally different to the feelings that surged through his body now, as Lord Anarion’s arms came around Kirryn and drew him close. He tilted up his face and met his master’s gaze, and then Lord Anarion was ducking down to him, and his mouth was pressing down on Kirryn’s in a firm kiss, and it was all Kirryn could do to stay on his feet, because his knees buckled.

Emotions surged through his body. Fear warred with an ever increasing feeling of desire, and eventually desire won. Kirryn pressed himself closer the man who held him, unable to stop himself thrusting against the thigh that was pushed between his own, moaning at the feel of his hardened cock pressing so deliciously against his master’s firm, muscled leg.

A palm was pressed against one of Kirryn’s nipples, and he gasped as the feeling shot like a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. He arched into the touch, silently begging with his body for more. Fingers felt for the nub of his nipple through the fabric of Kirryn’s shirt, and began to tease, twisting and pulling.

Some of Kirryn’s nervousness returned when his master pulled away and began to strip the clothes from Kirryn’s body, but it was again subsumed by need as Lord Anarion bent to kiss and lick at each bit of newly bared skin. Somehow Kirryn found himself sprawled on the large bed, half beneath Lord Anarion’s still dressed body. A large, warm hand wrapped itself around his cock and slid up and down.

“Oh, my Lord!” Kirryn moaned, unable to believe just how good it felt to have a hand other than his own caressing him in such an intimate way. 

The hand stopped, and Lord Anarion pulled away. He smiled at Kirryn. “I think, bearing in mind our situation, perhaps a little less formality is called for. My name is Fay’eth: you may call me by it whilst we are here.”

Fay’eth. Kirryn tried the name out in his head as his master rose from the bed and began to remove his own clothing; his eyes travelling over Kirryn’s naked body in a way that made Kirryn feel all hot and excited.

“I’ve wanted to do this with you since I found you tripping naked through my trees,” Fay’eth said.

Kirryn’s eyes went round. “Really?” he asked.

“I never thought I’d get the opportunity though,” Fay’eth went on.

Kirryn frowned. “But surely, you could have just ordered me to...”

Fay’eth halted his undressing. “I _have_ never, and _will_ never, take anyone to my bed who does not wish to be there,” he said sternly. “Even now, if you find that you cannot go through with this, then...then we will think of another way.”

“I’m all right, so far,” Kirryn said with a tentative smile, and with a quick look down as his erect cock.

Fay’eth finished stripping off his clothes. Although Kirryn has seen his master naked before, this time had far more significance, and he found his gaze locked on Fay’eth’s long, heavy, half-erect cock.

“How?” he heard himself ask.

Settling himself on the bed by Kirryn’s side, Fay’eth told him. Kirryn felt himself go hot and then cold, and his eyes went round and scared. 

“No!” he gasped, and made to rise from the bed.

Fay’eth caught and held him. “I thought you said you trusted me, Kirryn?”

“I do, but that...that can’t be,” Kirryn stuttered, still making feeble attempts to get away from his master’s grip.

“It can be, and is,” Fay’eth insisted.

“But you said it could be, be pleasurable,” Kirryn cried, “that can’t bring any pleasure at all, only pain.”

“It can bring a great deal of pleasure,” Fay’eth assured him, “else why would it be done? Please, Kirryn, stop panicking and trust me. I will do my very best not to hurt you.”

Kirryn shook his head, all desire he had felt had drained from his body. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Fay’eth took a deep breath. “All right,” he said, “let’s take this one step at a time. You can stop me any time you feel you have to. You enjoyed things up until now, didn’t you?”

Kirryn bit his lip, but nodded.

Fay’eth bent his head and pressed his mouth to Kirryn’s. This kiss was more gentle than before, almost a question, and Kirryn felt the panic inside him lessen until he was able to respond, pushing back against the tongue that delved into his mouth, tasting the inside of his master’s mouth. His cock hardened again.

The tips of Fay’eth’s fingers drifted, shadow-soft over Kirryn’s flesh, sending trickles of pleasure through his body, and soon he relaxed fully down on the fur cover beneath him. The fingers occasionally circled but never touched his by-now fully erect cock, until Kirryn found himself desperate for a repeat of that earlier caress.

“Please,” he said finally, “Please, touch me again.”

A warm hand immediately engulfed Kirryn’s cock and began to stroke. Kirryn allowed his eyes to flicker shut, and arched his hips upwards, pushing himself more firmly into that knowing grip.

Fay’eth’s lips closed around one of Kirryn’s nipples, his tongue flicking at the little nub, and Kirryn gasped, the duel sensations of having his cock stroked and his nipple teased and sucked almost sending him over the edge. But more was to come.

Kirryn was disappointed when Fay’eth’s mouth left his nipple, but the emotion was quickly replaced by ecstasy when that same mouth descended over the tip of Kirryn’s cock and his master’s tongue began to work up and down Kirryn’s shaft. 

He was so pre-occupied by the wonderful feelings coursing through his body that at first Kirryn didn’t notice that the fingers about his cock were, every now and then, dipping lower to caress his balls, rolling them in their soft sac, and then further, to press into an area just behind his balls. But when the fingers suddenly circled that most intimate entrance to his body, the place that Fay’eth had told him was where he would have to penetrate Kirryn, then he flinched and tried to jerk away.

Fay’eth hushed him. “Trust me, Kirryn,” he said softly. Pulling away slightly, Fay’eth reached for something on the shelf that ran above the head of the bed. Kirryn eyed the small, black bottle dubiously. 

Uncorking the little phial, his master dripped some of the contents of the bottle onto his fingers. Then he dipped his mouth to Kirryn’s once again, kissing him until Kirryn began to worry about breathing. At the same time the oil coated fingers returned to Kirryn’s cock...and Kirryn nearly lost his breath for another reason. If the stroking fingers had felt good before, it was nothing to how good they now felt, slicked and slippery on his flesh, and Kirryn wondered vaguely if any woman would have been able to touch him so effectively, or whether it took another man to know exactly how to bring about so much pleasure from this act.

He tensed when once again the fingers delved below his balls, but then Fay’eth broke off the kiss and a moment later his mouth once again sucked on Kirryn’s cock. Kirryn’s mind went blank with pleasure and his head fell back on the pillows. It felt so good, so very good, even the finger that began pressing insistently against the entrance to his body didn’t feel threatening.

With such intense stimulation it wasn’t long before Kirryn felt his orgasm building within his body, pulses of pleasure coursing through every part of him. And then the finger that had been pressing against his entrance forced its way inside him, and Kirryn sucked in a ragged breath, a protest ready on his lips. 

It never came, as that same finger stroked over something deep within him that blotted any thought of complaint from his mind and send him spiralling into ecstatic orgasm. It was pleasure the like of which Kirryn had never known. Pleasure felt in every single part of his body, as if he was bathing in the wondrous feelings; floating in a world of bliss. His heart pounded, his blood sang in his veins, and his vision blurred and darkened at the edges.

He wasn’t given any respite. Before he had fully come back down from his immense high, another finger had been pressed inside him. It didn’t hurt, and Kirryn began to think that maybe he could do this; that perhaps it wasn’t going to be as unpleasant and painful as he had feared...especially when those two fingers kept sweeping over that place inside him that sent tingles and shocks throughout his body. 

When the third finger was introduced into his body, Kirryn changed his mind.

“Oh!” He gasped. “No, stop! It hurts.”

“Relax, Kirryn. Breathe. It’ll only hurt if you are tense,” Fay’eth instructed.

Kirryn tried to do as he was told and breathe through the burn around his entrance. He screwed his eyes up tight and pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to cry out for his master to stop, that he couldn’t bear it. Then gradually the pain lessened and the pleasure began to return. His cock, which had softened, began to rise again, then rose to full hardness when Fay’eth sucked its length into his mouth and began to tease his tongue into the slit.

Kirryn bucked uncontrollably into the hot wetness, loving the feel of his master’s mouth and tongue. Then Fay’eth’s fingers were removed from Kirryn’s body and he moved, catching one of Kirryn’s legs and folding it back against Kirryn’s chest, and the tip of his cock was pressed against Kirryn’s entrance. Kirryn sucked in a deep breath, and then let it out with a gasp as Fay’eth’s cock breached him and began to push inside.

It felt strange. There was pain, but not as much as Kirryn had feared, and he felt certain this was because his master had taken care over preparing his body for the intrusion.

For a long moment Fay’eth held still, looking down at Kirryn intently. “All right?” he asked softly.

Kirryn gazed up at his master and nodded. Fay’eth withdrew slightly, and then thrust back into Kirryn’s body. 

Kirryn opened his mouth and gasped. Fay’eth had driven his cock unerringly over that spot inside Kirryn that gave him so much pleasure, and he continued to do so. Each thrust seeming to go deeper and deeper inside Kirryn until he felt so full, so totally possessed by Fay’eth that it was almost all he could do to keep breathing. Every part of him was alive with sensation, alive with ecstasy, and now he knew why two men bedded together, for he couldn’t imagine a greater pleasure than this.

Keeping his weight on his forearms, Fay’eth dropped his mouth to Kirryn’s in a deep kiss. Kirryn snaked his arms around his master’s shoulders and pulled Fay’eth closer, wanting everything; all the man could give him. Almost without thinking, he thrust his cock up against Fay’eth hard stomach, thrusting in time with the cock that drove in and out of his body, until he was coming with a rush, vaguely aware of Fay’eth thrusting once, twice more inside him, and then his master stilling, deep inside Kirryn’s body, as his cock jerked and filled Kirryn with his essence.

Some time later, as Kirryn lay curled in drowsy contentment against his master’s side, something occurred to him. “So, that’s it? I’m not a virgin anymore?” He couldn’t keep the twinge of disappointment out of his voice: having taken his virginity, there would be no need for Fay’eth to repeat their coupling.

Fay’eth’s eyes opened slowly and he smiled. “That’s right,” he agreed, “But,” he added, suddenly rolling Kirryn beneath him, “there is no harm in making absolutely sure!”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

 

By the time they emerged, late that afternoon, to take a dip in the hot spring pool, there was absolutely no doubt at all that Kirryn was no longer a virgin. He felt different somehow, full, complete, contented...and above all, almost deliriously happy.

He was confident enough that he felt no trepidation when Fay’eth led the way to the dining hall that evening, instead of eating in their room. Indeed, although their arrival caused what Kirryn assumed were some ribald comments, and rather more laughter when he discovered a large cushion had been placed on his seat, after that the Varulfur returned to their own conversations.

Thane winked at him. “Better?” he asked with a knowing smile.

Kirryn blushed, but nodded, the warm, heavy weight of his master’s hand on his thigh making him feel protected and sure of himself...until, that is, a Varulfur appeared half way through their meal. He was still wearing his heavy fur cloak, on which the snow lay thickly, indicating that he had just arrived. 

The Varulfur strode to Thane’s side and began to speak quickly, but his eyes then caught and fixed upon Kirryn. For a moment he halted his discourse, and then, with some effort, he dragged his attention away from Kirryn and back to Thane. But Kirryn noticed that the Varulfur’s eyes kept returning to him, and it made him uncomfortable all over again. A place was made for the Varulfur at Thane’s side, and, message presumably delivered, a bowl of food was brought for him. 

For some time he busied himself with eating and then, abruptly, he gestured towards Kirryn with his spoon, and said something. Both Thane and Fay’eth immediately began to question the man. 

“What did he say?” Kirryn asked anxiously, plucking at Fay’eth’s sleeve. “Was it about me?”

“He says he’s seen your kind before,” Fay’eth said quickly, before returning to question the Varulfur again in his own tongue.

Kirryn sat in stunned silence. Of course, he knew that somewhere there must be others like him, a people who shared his uncommon looks. Somewhere, he presumed, he must have relatives, unless they were all lost on the shipwreck that had caused him to be washed up on the shores of Allaria. But the sudden confirmation of his suppositions, the thought that there was the possibility that he might be reunited with his own kind...

“Where?” he managed to gasp.

“He can’t remember,” Fay’eth said. “He’s a ranger and he travels extensively through the portals, to different lands. He says he was on the way to one place, and found himself in another...a place inhabited by your kind.”

“I don’t understand?” Kirryn said, frowning. “You mean he got lost?”

Thane turned to the messenger and shot a question at him. The Varulfur shook his head, then began to speak. After a few moments Thane beckoned over one of the servants, and gave him an instruction. The man hurried from the room, and then appeared a few minutes later with a large scroll.

The end of the table where they were sitting was hastily cleared and the parchment spread out. Kirryn leaned forward for a better look. To his inexperienced eyes, the lines on the document looked like a spider’s web. Lines radiated out from a single point, joining others in a complicated tangle. Spaced along the lines were dots, next to which were written words in what was presumably the Varulfur’s language.

“Can we not retrace his steps?” Fay’eth asked.

The messenger was pointing at one of the dots, and Thane was tracing his finger along lines that led to and from it.

“Each of the dots is a world,” Fay’eth explained.

Before he could go on, Kirryn interrupted; a word had finally sunk into his brain. “A...a world? You mean, you mean the doorways don’t just lead to different parts of Allaria?” Kirryn was struggling to understand just what Fay’eth meant. Could he really mean that the Varulfur travelled between different worlds?

Thane answered Kirryn’s question. “There are main doorways, which we can control, doorways we can use to travel between the worlds. They are fixed, constant. They are physically there. We have our map, which shows us the routes between the worlds: we couldn’t, for example, travel directly from Varul to Maldeth.” Thane’s finger pointed to a far dot on the map. “To get there we have to go via the main doorways in Sedonia and Gallen.” His fingers traced a route on the map. “These main doorways also allow us to manipulate time, within certain limits.”

“So that is how you plan to get back to Allaria before the meeting starts!” Kirryn exclaimed.

Fay’eth nodded.

“Then there are the secondary pathways which can be used to travel around the particular world itself,” Thane continued, “and they are not visible to any except the Varulful...as far as we know. These doorways are also fixed; they only lead to one place. 

And there are yet other doorways,” Thane went on. “They seem to be like our main doorways—we can travel to other worlds through them—but they are not fixed and we cannot control them. We try not to use them, they are too unpredictable. These random doorways could leave you stranded on another world, with possibly no way home. Of course, sometimes we enter one by accident—which is what Nerule here did.” He gestured to the ranger. “He was lucky to get home again. Sometimes the doors close, and that is that. It took him quite a lot of travelling before he finally managed to locate a doorway that led him back to the more well travelled routes. It was while he was looking for a way home that he came across your people.”

Kirryn sat back on his seat, a churning feeling in his stomach. He felt sort of numb and yet tingly, all at the same time. So, not only were his people from a different land, they were from a different world. No wonder he looked so different. Being brought up by a scholar like Turais had opened Kirryn’s eyes to the idea that other worlds might exist—up there, in the black reaches of the night sky—but to have that idea so casually verified as fact...and to discover that he himself was from one of those worlds...

“But how did I end up in Allaria?” Kirryn blurted his sudden thought out loud.

Thane shrugged. “Your people may be as familiar with the portals as we are,” he said. “Perhaps they were exploring? We know there are others who use the star lanes.”

Kirryn thought about it. Had his family been exploring? But why would they take a small baby with them, when they didn’t know what they might face? “They must have been to Allaria before,” he stated quietly.

“What makes you think that?” Fay’eth asked.

“Would you go exploring a strange world with a baby?”

Fay’eth shook his head. “You’re right; I wouldn’t. In which case...”

“Not necessarily,” Thane interrupted. 

They turned to him. “Whilst there are races familiar with the portals, most are not. It could be they just stumbled through one, and then couldn’t find their way home again.”

“But why take a baby with them?” Kirryn insisted.

“Maybe they didn’t,” Thane reasoned. “Maybe you were just a natural occurrence after they arrived in Allaria?”

Kirryn bit his lip. He didn’t like to think that Thane was right, because if his people were familiar with the portals then there was more chance of the Varulfur running into them again, but the fact that they hadn’t gave more credence to Thane’s idea that they were accidental travellers, in which case it may be that they would never be found.

Kirryn’s eyes prickled. In the space of a few minutes he’d had his hopes raised that just maybe he could be reunited with his own people, only to have those hopes dashed again when the enormity of the search was pointed out to him.

Then another thought occurred to him. “Maybe they didn’t use the portals at all?” he said hesitantly. “We didn’t.” He glanced at Fay’eth.

Thane raised an eyebrow. “You mean they used magic to get to Allaria?” He turned to Fay’eth. “Is it possible, do you think?”

Fay’eth shrugged, but shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so. It takes a huge amount of force to get here—or to be pushed here,” he added, scowling. “I think the only reason it’s possible to get from Allaria to Varul without using the doorways is that we are close neighbours. Therefore it follows that if Kirryn’s people came to Allaria without using the portals, then they must be close neighbours also, and we know that is not the case.”

“Do we?” Kirryn asked.

Thane drew Kirryn’s attention to the map. “Here is Varul,” he said, pointing at the dot in the centre from which all the other lines radiated. “And here is Allaria,” he went on, tracing his finger along a very short line to the nearest dot to Varul. “And here is the next closest world.” He indicated a dot that was at least twice as far from Varul as Allaria was.

Kirryn gazed at the dots on the great map, and they began to blur and run together as tears welled up in his eyes.

Later, back in the quiet of their room, Fay’eth’s arms came around Kirryn and drew him close. “Thane will do all he can,” he said softly. “He will ask his men to be on the look-out, to ask questions; if anyone can find your people, the Varulfur can.”

Kirryn nodded silently, his cheek pressed to Fay’eth broad chest. Already he felt comforted; he may not be able to be reunited with his kin, but he had Fay’eth to hold him...and to make love to him in the comfort of the big, fur covered bed.

They were woken in the early hours of the morning by a banging on the outer door. It was Thane. 

“The snow has stopped early. We leave in an hour.”

“An hour?” Kirryn said sleepily, glancing at the window. “But it’s still da...” he began to add, before remembering what Fay’eth had said with regard to the Varulfurs’ sight.

He and Fay’eth dressed quickly, and were ready well before time, having no belongings to pack. Kirryn was glad of the black fur cloak that enveloped him when he stepped outside into the courtyard; it may have stopped snowing, but it was still bitterly cold, and he pulled the hood up around his ears and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

“How can we travel in this?” he asked Fay’eth, looking at the deep snow.

“If we want to reach the portal we’ll have to; you’ll not see the ground again before spring now. Don’t worry,” Fay’eth added with a smile, noticing Kirryn’s fearful expression. “The Varulfur, and their horses, are well used to conditions such as these, and worse.”

As the courtyard began to fill with the Varulfur, Kirryn turned to Fay’eth and asked quietly, “Are they all coming with us?”

Fay’eth nodded. “The scout brought a rumour of war, and they are going to fight. Thane likes to keep his men occupied.”

Kirryn glanced at the long sword that now hung at his master’s side. “Did you ever fight with them?” 

“No; they fight for the thrill of it...to me there is no thrill in killing just for the sake of it. I went with them, but I stayed in camp.”

Kirryn thought about this. He did not see how anyone could let their lover go into battle alone.

As if he had read Kirryn’s thoughts, Fay’eth went on. “I’m quite sure I would have been more a nuisance to Thane than any help...and when the blood lust comes on the Varulfur, then they see nothing but their next target.”

Fay’eth’s words reminded Kirryn of all the terrifying tales told of the Varulfur, tales he had forgotten as he sat among them at the dining table, or bathed in the hot spring. Somehow he found it hard to equate those stories of ferocious killers with the men he had shared a bath with. 

There was a sudden flurry of movement when Thane strode from the barracks, pulling on thick leather gauntlets. Kirryn and Fay’eth had been given similar gloves, and their hands were warm and protected from the bitter cold.

The Varulfur began to swing into their saddles; Kirryn’s spirits sank. He was an adequate horseman, but the thought a long ride in the dark and the snow daunted him.

Thane clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “No falling asleep in the saddle, young Kirryn, we don’t want to you to fall off and be eaten by a Lyath.”

“A what?” Kirryn asked nervously as soon as Thane was out of earshot.

“A Lyath; a creature I hope you will never have the misfortune to meet.” Fay’eth said, his answer doing nothing to soothe Kirryn’s nerves. “Don’t worry, Kirryn,” Fay’eth went on. “I shall be by your side and will ensure you don’t fall off and get left behind. And we shan’t be travelling at speed as we did the other night.”

“Riders!” Thane shouted.

Kirryn and Fay’eth hurried to their horses and mounted up, moments later the whole party rode out of the courtyard and into the pitch-black night.

Only it wasn’t as dark as Kirryn had thought it would be. Overhead, stars filled the blackness, and a large moon sailed between them casting a silver glow over the snow-white landscape. It grew even brighter when, to Kirryn’s astonishment, another moon rose over the horizon; smaller than the first and with a faint bluish tinge to its light.

“Ynlas,” Fay’eth said from by Kirryn’s side, his eyes fixed on the small moon above them. 

“Ynlas?” Kirryn repeated. “Why didn’t we see it before?”

“Its journey is slower than that of Ynwyn; it graces the night sky rarely.”

“The moon of lovers,” Thane said from Kirryn’s other side, an amused tone in his voice.

Kirryn glanced at him, and found that Thane’s strange eyes were on himself and Fay’eth. They seemed to reflect the moonlight, giving them an eerie inner glow. 

It gave Kirryn a warm tingly feeling inside to think that others regarded himself and Fay’eth as lovers; that Thane did not seem to think their coupling had just been about the taking of Kirryn’s virginity. 

Because although it might have started out that way, Kirryn was nearly sure that there was now something else between himself and Fay’eth. Between the times when Fay’eth drove Kirryn’s body to heights of pleasure, the like of which Kirryn had never even guessed at, they talked. Fay’eth told Kirryn about his childhood, about the castle, even about the politics of Allaria. 

In turn Kirryn talked of his loneliness growing up in a place where he was viewed with suspicion and fear; regarded as an outsider, a changeling: otherworldly – an accusation that Kirryn now knew was based on fact. A fact he still had some trouble believing. Fay’eth had been kind, sympathetic and understanding.

However hard it might be, Kirryn was sure that Fay’eth would find some way for them to continue their relationship when they returned to Allaria.

They halted around mid-morning. They sky had gone a threatening shade of pewter, and Thane looked worried.

“I hate to stop so soon,” he said to Fay’eth and Kirryn, “but here we are sure of shelter—and I think we are going to need it.”

“Here” was a large cavern hidden behind a tumble of huge boulders. There was a narrow pathway, just wide enough to lead the horse through, that led into an anti-chamber, beyond which was a huge, lofty, dry cave. The horses were corralled to one side, where they happily munched on the hay that hung from the cavern walls in rope nets. The Varulfur laid out their bedrolls, and Fay’eth and Kirryn found a space among the others and spread out their own beds. There was large depression in the middle of the earth floor that had been partially filled with rounded rocks. Upon these the Varulfur had soon built and lit a fire, using wood stored around the cavern walls. 

The snowstorm had struck not long after they had made camp, and the warmth from the fire was very welcome. Although they were out of the wind, the air was still chill and numbed their fingers, and the men huddled close around the fire, talking in low voices as they prepared food. 

“We might as well get some sleep,” Thane said later, a gloomy expression on his face. “The snow will keep us here for now.”

Fay’eth looked worried. “Will we still reach the portal in time?” he asked. 

Thane nodded. “I think so...I shall certainly do my best to get us there in time. But I cannot change the weather, Fay’eth. Still,” he went on, catching sight of the concern on Fay’eth’s face, “we have some days in hand.” He clapped Fay’eth bracingly on the shoulder, and then went to yell at some of his men who had started a scuffle.

The men soon settled, used to snatching sleep whenever they were given the chance to do so. Kirryn, huddled under his thick fur cloak, shut his eyes. He was drifting into sleep when a large, warm hand slid under the edge of his shirt and fingers pinched at one of his nipples. His eyes flew open, and he turned to Fay’eth who lay by his side. Fay’eth smiled at him devilishly, his intent obvious.

Kirryn was aghast. As much as he desired Fay’eth, surely his master didn’t intend for them to have sex here, lying in the midst of so many strangers?

“We can’t,” he hissed as Fay’eth slipped across the small gap that separated them and inched his way beneath Kirryn’s furs.

“Why ever not?” Fay’eth’s tone was puzzled.

Kirryn’s eyes skittered around the cavern. “They’ll see,” he whispered, his body warring with itself, as part of him demanded that he respond to his lover, the other, shyer part, shocked at the thought of performing such an intimate act with no privacy other than the cloak that now covered them both.

“So?” Fay’eth looked amused. “Look around you, Kirryn,” he went on.

Kirryn peeped over the edge of the cloak, and bit back a gasp when he noticed that here and there pairs of Varulfur were doing exactly what Fay’eth intended to do. There was no fuss made, and little noise. The other Varulfur were either asleep, or careless about what was going on.

Kirryn retreated under the fur again. “Do they...are they all...” he stammered.

“They spend a great deal of time away from their homes; nothing is thought about giving, ah, comfort to one another. Now, are you going stop being so prudish?”

It was quick and perfunctory, but when they had finished Fay’eth rolled Kirryn into the curve of his body and cuddled him close, his breath warm on the back of Kirryn’s neck.

They awoke late in the afternoon. The cavern was ruddy with firelight, shadows dancing on the rock walls as the Varulfur moved about, tending to the fire, or to the horses, or checking their kit over. From somewhere came the sound of a whetstone, rhythmically stroking along a metal blade.

Fay’eth’s temper became shorter by the minute, until Kirryn retreated to the safety of a small ledge at the back of the cavern where he was out of the way. He knew his master was merely frustrated by their being effectively trapped by the snow, but it didn’t stop him feeling hurt when Fay’eth snapped at him.

Thane, striding across the cave, caught sight of Kirryn and swerved from this path to come and perch by his side. His eyes followed Kirryn’s to where Fay’eth paced like a caged animal, back and forth to the cavern entrance, his brows drawn down and his mouth twisted into a thin line.

“The closer he gets to home, the more he remembers his duties and his responsibilities,” Thane said. “Many of which are not of his own choosing.”

“I know,” Kirryn said softly, “I just wish...” he began, before trailing off, not sure just what it was that he wished for.

Thane glanced at him. “You have chosen a hard path to tread, young Kirryn.” He got to his feet, and then added. “Sometime we have to do things we would much rather not...remember that,” he said enigmatically, before moving off and continuing on his previous course towards the horses.

The snow stopped just as darkness was falling. Fay’eth was eager to be off, but Thane looked doubtful 

“I don’t know,” he said with a frown at the sky. “This weather is not normal. It is most unusual to get such brief falls of snow; not to mention the short times between each fall. Two days snow fall, two days clear, that’s how it should be.”

“Then we could be sitting here for days, while you decide whether we should go or whether we should stay,” Fay’eth snapped.

Thane’s eyes swivelled to him. “I am doing my best for you, Fay’eth,” he said mildly, “but you must also remember that I have my men to think of. I will not risk their safety for you,” he ended with finality.

“Then we must go on alone,” Fay’eth said bluntly. “I cannot afford to miss any opportunity I may have to return to Allaria in time to get to that meeting at the castle.”

He whipped about to go to the horses, but Thane grabbed his arm and brought him to a standstill. “Calm yourself, Fay’eth,” he sternly. “I said I would not risk my men for your sake, I did not say that I think we should remain here. Indeed, this place is not prepared for more than a short stop; we must go on to The Fortress, if we can.” Abruptly he spun round and bellowed, “Saddle up!”

Immediately the Varulfur sprang into action, as if they had been ready and waiting for Thane’s word. Kirryn rushed to gather his own things together, and before the last light had seeped from the sky they were mounted and on the trail again.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

That night they rode at pace. Not an all out gallop, but a steady ground-eating gait. Kirryn clung onto his mount and endured, thankful of Thane riding to his one side, and his master to the other. They were still riding when dawn broke, although the horses had slowed and some were blowing hard. 

Thane raised his hand, and the column of riders slowed to a walk, each horse kicking up plumes of the deep snow. There was little or no conversation. Kirryn was exhausted, and it was only through fear of falling off and being left behind that he managed to cling to his horse’s mane and the leather reins.

He had seen little of the landscape they travelled through during the night. The speed they were going, and the fact that Ynlas and Ynwen were mostly hidden by the wind driven clouds, meant the countryside had passed in a dark blur, but now they went from a level plain into a dense forest of what looked like fir trees. They followed a trackway, on each side of which the forest had been cleared back ten paces or so.

Around mid-morning Thane called a halt by the side of a frozen lake, deep within the forest. The men dismounted, and Kirryn was not the only one whose knees buckled on landing in the deep snow. They ran up the stirrups and loosened the girths of the horses, many of which were stood with drooping heads. Blankets were flung over their backs, and nosebags of corn provided. A hole was broken through the ice on the lake, and leather buckets filled with water for the horses to drink. Only then did the men see to their own comfort: relieving themselves, stretching aching, tired limbs, and delving into their packs to retrieve something to eat.

Kirryn forced himself to chew some of the dried meat from his own pack. He felt battered, bruised and sick to his stomach. The prospect of getting back on his horse filled him with dread and he wished desperately that the nightmare journey were over. 

He was staring out over the frozen lake, when he was engulfed from behind by the large body of his master. Fay’eth wrapped his arms around Kirryn and hugged him close. “How are you?” he asked quietly.

Kirryn swallowed down the sudden urge to cry, and instead turned and pressed his face into Fay’eth chest. “I’m alright,” he mumbled indistinctly.

“Not much further now,” Fay’eth said comfortingly. “The Fortress is on the other side of the forest. Then we can rest. From The Fortress it is not far to the portal. We’ll soon be home, Kirryn.”

Fay’eth’s last words filled Kirryn with mixed feelings. Whilst he did, of course, want to return to Allaria, and all that was familiar to him, Kirryn was also very conscious of the fact that once there the relationship between himself and Fay’eth would, of necessity, change. 

Fay’eth gave Kirryn one last squeeze, and then turned away at Thane’s shout of “Riders!” Kirryn stumbled back to his own horse and dragged himself into the saddle.

It was Kirryn who saw them first. A flicker of grey, like a drift of ash between the trees. He stared at the flickering, and wearily tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Then another drift of grey, slightly darker than the other, appeared behind it. There was little light in the forest, the trees packed closely together away from the narrow trail they were riding down, and it took Kirryn some time before he made out what it was he was seeing. A large animal, no, two large animals. And then a third.

“What’s that?” he hissed sharply, suddenly wide awake. The hairs on the back of his neck had risen to prickle horribly as a shiver of cold went through him. He had no idea what the animals were, but every one of his senses was screaming with fear.

Thane glanced over to see what Kirryn was looking at. A split second later he called out, “Lyath!” The affect on the men was instantaneous. They had been riding, strung out loosely in twos and threes, now they all came together tightly packed, two by two forming a snake of horses and men.

The Lyaths, seemingly aware that they had been spotted, now stopped hiding their presence and came out into the open. Kirryn wished they had stayed hidden, for the animals that revealed themselves were the stuff of nightmares.

They were like an enormous wolf, fully five feet high at the shoulder, covered with grey fur, but their front legs were shorter than their rear legs, which gave them the appearance that they were crouched and ready to pounce. Long, scything claws protruded from each padded foot, and a whip-like scaled tail thrashed the air. High on their heads tufted ears twitched back and to, below which black eyes gleamed with horrible intelligence. 

“Reiste!” A Varulfur said softly. Thane twisted in his saddle, and Kirryn’s eyes flew to the other side of the track, where two more Lyaths could be seen, deliberately pacing the riders, their eyes never leaving the column of horses.

“Why don’t we speed up?” he gasped fearfully.

Thane shook his head. “We’ve too far to go to reach safety,” he said. “The horses would be blown well before we could reach The Fortress. The Lyaths can travel at speed, and they have not a night’s hard ride behind them.”

As if sensing their fear, the Lyaths began to move closer, even more of them coming from the interior of the forest.

“I’ve never seen so many together,” Thane said, a shocked sound in his voice.

Kirryn tried to count the animals that now paced through the trees to either side of them. There must have been at least fifteen of them, but they changed position constantly, sometimes one leading, sometimes another.

“Why don’t they attack?” he asked tremulously.

“It amuses them not to...yet,” Thane replied.

It was terrifying to ride slowly whilst being stalked by such monsters. The horses snorted and showed the whites of their eyes, and sweated foam sheened their hides. Thane leaned down and took hold of the reins of Kirryn’s mount to steady it, his eyes never leaving the Lyaths.

“Just a little while longer,” he said under his breath.

“What?” Kirryn whispered.

“If they will hold off their attack for just a little while longer, then there is a small chance we will be able to outrun them to The Fortress, where we will be safe,” Thane explained. 

But the Lyaths had had enough of stalking it seemed; there was suddenly more purpose in their movements, more intense regard in their eyes, as if they were looking for a weak link in the line of riders.

Fay’eth was riding ahead of Kirryn and Thane and now he swung his great hunting bow from his back, stringing it as he turned round in his saddle to speak to Thane. 

“Now?” he asked.

“I don’t think we can hold off any longer. We’ll have to make a run for it,” Thane replied. “Prepare,” he hissed down the line of men.

Kirryn had no idea what was going on. Surely his master couldn’t shoot more than perhaps two of the Lyaths before they attacked, but none of the Varulfur seemed to be drawing their weapons.

The great bow sang a song of death, and a long, oaken shaft flew straight to its target. One of the Lyaths screamed as it fell, the arrow buried almost to the feathers in its hide. And then Kirryn saw the plan, for the other Lyath immediately gave off stalking them and closed in on their erstwhile mate, ripping and tearing at the carcass of the dying beast. He closed his eyes against the sight and shuddered, bile rising in his throat.

The moment the Lyaths fell on the fallen beast, Thane yelled “Now!” at his men. The horses needed no urging to plunge into full flight. They thundered through the deep snow between the trees, aware that every yard brought them closer to safety. 

Kirryn did not turn around in his saddle to see if they were being pursued, although the urge to do so was strong. Thane drove Kirryn’s horse forward towards the other Varulfur, whilst Fay’eth dropped back to ride by Thane’s side, forming a kind of rear guard. Kirryn hated to leave his master, but he did not think he could have slowed his horse if he had tried. He heard again the whip of the bow as Fay’eth let loose another arrow, trying to buy them all more time to reach The Fortress.

But there seemed to be no end to the forest, no end to the headlong flight along the track. No end to the pain and terror that caused Kirryn to retch as he clung desperately to his horse’s mane.

Then, up ahead, one of the Varulfur cried out as his mount was swept from under him by a vicious, raking slice from a Lyath that had appeared from the forest. Kirryn expected one of the other Varulfur to stop for their comrade, but no one did so, and he shot a look of horror at the dismounted man as his own horse swerved around the dead horse that lay at the edge of the path, its guts spewed in a tangled, bloody pile.

Again he heard the sound of his master’s bow, and then Fay’eth and Thane were at his side, and there was light ahead; the end of the forest was in sight. The flagging horses seemed to draw courage from their closeness to safety, for their pace quickened again. 

But behind them now Kirryn could hear the sound of pursuit. The Lyaths had had enough of devouring their own kind, and had decided their prey had got too far ahead. 

Fay’eth turned once more in his saddle, holding onto his galloping horse with his knees only as he knocked an arrow, and then raised his bow, drew back the string and let fly, all in one fluid movement. His arrow must have found its target for there was another dreadful scream from one of the Lyaths, but the sound of pursuit did not die away, and Kirryn realised that his master had bought them all the time he could, and now it was up to the horses to save them. He closed his eyes, sure that at any moment he would feel the slice of a Lyath’s claws and then the bite of terrible teeth.

At first Kirryn thought he was imagining it, that the terror had somehow driven him mad, for it felt as if the path was rising. Then he managed to grit his teeth and open his eyes, and found that the horses were now galloping single file up a narrow ledge. To his right side was a sheer wall of rock, to his left was a drop that was becoming more stomach-churningly precipitous by the moment. 

Then he was clattering under a high stone archway and into a wide courtyard where, before their horses had even fully stopped, the Varulfur were hurling themselves out of their saddles and racing to the gateway Kirryn had just passed through. They had, it seemed, reached The Fortress. Kirryn frantically searched for Fay’eth, before spotting his master’s tell-tale gleam of white blond hair, and then he fainted dead away.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

He awoke on a bed covered with furs. The room he found himself in was warmed by a fire burning in a small grate. The walls were of stone, but the ceiling above him was of seasoned, smoke-blackened wood. To one side of the bed a candle had been set on a small table, illuminating a plate of bread and cheese and a mug. For a long moment he wondered where he was, and then memory came flooding back: the Lyath and the frightful, hectic dash for safety through the forest—safety they had reached. The Fortress, Kirryn presumed. 

He sat up in bed and reached for the mug of water, drinking it thirstily. He was just about to help himself to the bread and cheese when a door opened and Fay’eth peered through the gap. When he saw that Kirryn was awake he smiled, came in and the closed the door behind him.

“How are you feeling, Kirryn?” he asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

Kirryn was surprised to realise that actually he felt quite well. The sickness in his stomach had gone, and his body only ached a little. “I feel fine,” he said.

“Good. Do you feel like getting up?”

“Oh, yes,” Kirryn said hastily, scrambling out from under the covers. At Fay’eth’s instruction he pulled on his thick fur cloak, before following his master outside to where a long corridor stretched away, numerous doors down one side, narrow windows on the other. They made their way to a door at the end, which Kirryn soon discovered led outside...and there he stopped short to take in the sight that met his eyes. 

They were standing at one side of a huge courtyard, covered now by snow, but presumably stone flagged. All around the courtyard was a high wall that in places seemed to be made of living rock. Here and there steps led up to a narrow walkway than ran around the whole circumference of the ramparts, which were broken up at intervals by narrow turrets. At the foot of the wall were buildings of various shapes and sizes. Over to his right he could see the entrance through which they had arrived. Now it was blocked by a weighty, iron-studded door.

“Come,” Fay’eth said, pulling Kirryn by the arm. He crossed the courtyard and led the way to a set of steps and proceeded up them. Kirryn followed cautiously; the steps were icy and slippery.

“If we were to be here any length of time, Thane would get his men to sand the ramparts,” Fay’eth explained, when they reached the walkway. 

Kirryn pressed himself to the wall on his right, looking nervously over at the drop back down to the courtyard below.

“Look!” Fay’eth said, an excited tone in his voice.

Kirryn peeled his eyes off the drop, and craned round to look over the rampart wall. Then caught his breath, all fear forgotten as he gazed out over what seemed like the whole of Varul. He felt like an eagle, so high was he. For the ramparts were like a rim around a bowl; cliffs dropped away below him, black and smooth. And before him was spread a vast landscape. The trees of the forest they had ridden through could be seen to his right. To his left were the foothills of a mountain range, that grew higher and higher until they faded into purple haze. In front of him a wide plain stretched between two long, low lines of hills, and away on the horizon, lit by the last rays of the setting sun, Kirryn could make out something that glittered.

“The sea?” he gasped.

“The sea,” Fay’eth confirmed. “And home,” he added.

Kirryn turned to him. “Home?”

“Indeed. The portal is on a small island just off the coast. We’ll be there tomorrow.”

Kirryn returned his gaze to the faint blue tinge. The sea. He had never seen the sea that he could remember. Since he had brought Kirryn to his home, Turais had only travelled there on rare occasions, and Kirryn had always been left behind. He had always wondered what it was like, and now he was to find out.

“Come,” Fay’eth said suddenly. “Bread and cheese are all very well, but there will be a hot meal waiting for us in the hall.”

Kirryn followed his master back down to the courtyard, and then across to the largest building. The mood in the great hall was subdued. The Varulfur either sat in silence over their meal, or spoke together in hushed voices. Kirryn warily took his place next to Thane, glad that Fay’eth was with him.

He ate his meal in silence, trying to focus on the food in front of him, and the prospect of returning to Allaria the following day. But try as he might he was unable to drag his thoughts away from the man who had been left behind in the forest. He couldn’t help but remember the feeling of horror that had swept over him when his eyes had met those of the deserted Varulfur. Surely something could have been done to save the man? Or did the Varulfur care so little about life? Finally he could bear it no more. 

“Why did no one stop for that man?” he demanded, “Surely he could have been saved. I know you all love to fight, but does life mean so little to you?”

Thane turned to him, and for the first time Kirryn caught a glimpse of the Varulfur from the firelight stories: for Thane appeared to grow larger, looming over Kirryn. The moonlight of his eyes seemed to be suddenly tinged with red, and his lips curled back to reveal the long, sharp canines. Kirryn shrank back in his seat, his eyes wide with fear.

“Thane!” Fay’eth spoke softly from by Kirryn’s side. “He is young; he does not understand.”

Kirryn watched nervously as, with an obvious effort, Thane swallow down his anger, his eyes never leaving Kirryn’s. When Thane spoke, his words were slow and deliberate.

“Do you think that if there had been any chance at all of saving him, I would have left one of my men behind? Had I, or any other of my men stopped for him, then it would have been two lives lost, not one. The horses barely made it to The Fortress carrying one man, they never would have made it carrying two. We’ve lost three horses as it is, your own among them.” With a sudden movement he tossed his spoon onto the table, rose to his feet and strode from the room.

“I’m sorry,” Kirryn whispered.

Fay’eth looked grave, but gave Kirryn’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. “Thane may send his men into battle—and they are happy to go; they know what risks they are facing – aye, and relish them—but that does not mean he does not feel the loss of them when they are killed.”

Kirryn put down his spoon, his appetite quite gone. “I think I’ll go back to my room now,” he said quietly.

“Our room,” Fay’eth corrected. “I will walk with you.”

They left the dining hall and walked across the snow-covered courtyard towards the range of buildings that housed their room. Darkness had fallen whilst they had been eating, and now Ynlas and Ynwen shone down from the night sky above them, taking their place amid the silver, fire-bright stars. Fay’eth paused, his head tipped back, looking up at them. “Venator,” he said softly. “See?” He pointed at the stars, and then traced a pattern between them. “The Hunter.”

Kirryn tried to make out which stars his master pointed out, but there were so many twinkling away above them.

“Hestyn,” Fay’eth continued, drawing another pattern. “Nemus, Brenin, Efelliath...” He laughed quietly. “The nights we spent, lying on our backs gazing up at the stars.”

Kirryn glanced up at his master, and for the first time it occurred to him to wonder if Fay’eth was still in love with Thane. The thought hurt so much it almost made him gasp aloud, but he bit the sound back and blinked away the prickle in his eyes. Because, surely, he tried to reason to himself, if his master had still been in love with Thane, he wouldn’t have spent every night with Kirryn, he would have taken Kirryn’s virginity, and then gone to the bed of his old lover. 

This thought comforted Kirryn somewhat, and he was able to smile up at Fay’eth when his master said, “Come, time for bed, I think; we shall have to be up early tomorrow. I just hope that this clear sky means a fine day.”

Fay’eth urged Kirryn forward, and together they made their way to their room. The fire had died down whilst they had been out, and Kirryn quickly knelt and coaxed it back to life. He was about to rise to his feet when a hand fell on his shoulder and held him in place. He looked up curiously at Fay’eth, and then smiled shyly when he saw the look in his master’s eyes.

Fay’eth dropped to his knees beside Kirryn on the fireside rug, and gently pushed Kirryn back until he was lying full length before the fire. His eyes never left Kirryn’s as he began to deftly remove Kirryn’s clothing.

Kirryn looked down his own body, lit by the glow from the fire. Fay’eth’s hands smoothed over his skin, caressing every part of Kirryn but those parts he most wished his master to touch; his cock and his nipples: parts of him that had become accustomed to Fay’eth’s touch and welcomed the press and tease of fingers, the hot warmth of Fay’eth’s mouth and tongue.

Fay’eth stood and removed his own clothing, revealing that wonderful body—all firm, hard muscles and smooth planes of warm skin—that Kirryn so adored pressed against his own. Kirryn reached for his master as Fay’eth dropped back to the rug at his side. 

They twined together, Kirryn pressing himself to Fay’eth, his mouth opening to welcome Fay’eth’s tongue, his knees falling to the side to accommodate his master’s body between, gasping as a hard cock rubbed up against his own.

Fay’eth reached for one of Kirryn’s nipples, teasing and pinching it until it peaked. Kirryn dug his fingers into Fay’eth’s broad back, before running his hands down the smooth flesh to the swell of Fay’eth’s buttocks, cupping each one and squeezing, pressing his master closer and harder against himself, frotting unabashedly against Fay’eth’s cock.

Kirryn moaned as Fay’eth left off kissing him, and trailed a hot, wet tongue along his jaw and then down his neck. Kirryn anticipated where Fay’eth’s mouth would next alight, and he arched up to meet it, sighing as his nipple was engulfed, and then nipped by his master’s sharp teeth. His whole body was now alight, and it seemed to Kirryn as if his skin had become ultra-sensitive to every caress, however light. He shivered as Fay’eth fingers trailed feather-soft over his skin, hardly touching, but nevertheless pleasuring.

Kirryn reached one hand up, and laced it into Fay’eth hair at the back of his head, pulling his master’s mouth down more firmly onto his nipple. His confidence had soared since Fay’eth had first taken his virginity, and now he had no qualms about asking for what his body desired; sure that Fay’eth would not hesitate to pleasure Kirryn in any way he wanted. And now Kirryn wanted more.

He wriggled onto his side, grasping one of Fay’eth’s hands and urging it down towards his needy cock. But Fay’eth resisted, and pulled away. Kirryn looked askance at him, worried that he might have done something wrong, but Fay’eth was smiling. He then reached for Kirryn and manoeuvred him so that he was lying with his mouth in a perfect position to accept his master’s cock, Kirryn’s shaft in a likewise position by Fay’eth’s mouth.

When Fay’eth had first asked Kirryn to do this, he had been terrified, unsure how to go about such an act, even though he had experienced having his own cock taken into Fay’eth warm mouth. Hesitant, fumbling, concerned he would make some mistake, it had taken him some time to learn the art of fellatio, but now he welcomed the chance to do something so intimate to his master: to run his tongue up and down the velvety length; to taste and to lick; to take the shaft into his mouth as far as he could, and to suck.

And to have the same done to him at the same time... It was all Kirryn could do to stop himself from coming. But Fay’eth was able to gauge his reactions, and he knew when to pull away before Kirryn spilled his essence into his master’s mouth.

“Not yet, young one,” Fay’eth said, getting to his feet. He went to fetch the small vial of oil from a shelf by the bed. He tossed it to Kirryn, who caught it automatically, and then stared at it with concern, unconsciously drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. He glanced up at his master as Fay’eth retook his place by the fire, bringing with him the pillows from the bed. He lounged back on them, his eyes alight with desire.

“Prepare yourself for me,” his master said softly. 

“But I don’t know how,” Kirryn managed to say.

“Yes, you do,” Fay’eth contradicted. 

“But...” Kirryn’s face flamed, and all his self-consciousness came back.

Fay’eth tossed him a cushion. “Lie back,” he instructed. “Spread your legs...wider, let me see.”

Kirryn did as he was told, his face crimson. Tentatively he uncorked the bottle of oil.

“Use plenty,” Fay’eth said softly. 

With another quick look at his master, Kirryn bent to his task, pouring some of the oil into the palm of one hand, before replacing the cork, and setting the bottle to one side. He swallowed hard. Of course, he knew what had to be done, but he had never touched himself down there before; Fay’eth had always opened his body ready for penetration. Kirryn dipped his fingers into the oil, and then reached down between his thighs. The skin around his entrance was puckered, crinkly, and the muscles beneath clenched beneath his exploring touch.

“Coat your entrance with the oil...now press inwards,” Fay’eth ordered, his eyes fixed on Kirryn’s fingers.

Kirryn drew a trembling breath, but did as he was told, pressing firmly against the ring of muscle guarding that most intimate of places. Half of him was acutely embarrassed at what he was doing, but some part of him began to find the experience erotic. The thought of preparing himself to be taken; preparing a way for Fay’eth to drive into him, be deep inside him... Kirryn’s cock began to swell, and his fingers became more determined in their efforts to breach his entrance. Abruptly his clenched muscle gave way under the pressure, and one of Kirryn’s digits slipped inside. He let out a gasp, feeling the tight heat around his finger. Experimentally he slid his finger in and out, each time feeling his body relax more around the intrusion.

“More oil.”

Kirryn slowly withdrew his finger from his body, and coated it with the rest of the oil that was still in his palm.

Fay’eth smiled. “You’ll need to breach yourself with more than one finger to ready yourself for me.” 

Kirryn looked across at his master, to find Fay’eth was slowly stroking his cock, which was hard and ready for Kirryn’s body.

Kirryn reached again for the bottle of oil. When all his fingers were slick with the lubricant, he returned them to his entrance. First one finger, which met little resistance now, and then slowly he pushed another one inside his body. This time his questing fingers found his sweet spot and his whole body jerked as pleasure sparked through it. Fully relaxed now as he found he was able to bring such bliss to his own body, Kirryn smiled across at his master. His fingers copying the rhythm with which Fay’eth stroked his shaft. Kirryn’s own cock twitched against his belly, leaving shiny trails of essence.

He found it more awkward to push a third finger into his entrance, but Kirryn managed it, the way slick with oil and loose around his pumping fingers.

With a groan, Fay’eth launched himself across to Kirryn’s, knocking Kirryn’s fingers out of the way and gathering up Kirryn’s legs with his arms, so Kirryn was nearly bent double as his master fell between his thighs, cock jabbing at his entrance and then, finding its target, sinking inside. It was as well that Kirryn had become so used to the intrusion of Fay’eth’s cock within his body, or he might have suffered some pain at the forceful mounting, but there was only slight discomfort before pleasure subsumed it and drove Kirryn to the peaks of ecstasy. Holding Fay’eth tight to himself, wrapping his arms around his master’s broad back and locking his heels around Fay’eth’s buttocks, urging his lover on, faster, harder until his climax came upon him, leaving him gasping out Fay’eth’s name over and over as the essence spurted from his body.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Kirryn awoke the following morning to a vague feeling of disquiet. He felt sad, and for some moments he could not understand why...and then he recalled that today was the day that he and Fay’eth would hopefully be returned, via the portal, to Allaria. And once there, Kirryn knew that things between them would change; they would have to keep their relationship secret, stealing moments whenever they could. He would have to hide his love for Fay’eth; never able to just reach out and touch his lover whenever he felt the need; never able to speak the words of love except for the scant time they would have alone together.

He rolled over to Fay’eth...only to find his master’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold. Kirryn scrambled out of bed, and hastily pulled on his clothes. He found Fay’eth in the dining hall where they had eaten the night before. Kirryn came to Fay’eth’s side tentatively, his eyes nervously darting to Thane who sat at Fay’eth’s side. But Thane merely smiled as Kirryn approached them. “Come along, sleepy-head. There’ll be no breakfast left if you do not hurry.” He gestured towards a long table to one side of the room, which held a quantity of plates and dishes, all containing food. A number of the Varulfur were filling their plates, and Kirryn quickly went and joined them, heaping cooked meats and bread onto his own plate, and filling a bowl with hot porridge, before returning to sit by his master.

“Are you ready for home, young Kirryn?” Thane asked.

Kirryn took a breath to reply in the affirmative, and then paused. Was he? Was he really ready to return to Allaria, knowing what that return would entail? Before he had come to work for his master there had been nothing for him in Allaria, and no one. He could understand Fay’eth’s own reluctance to return to Allaria when he had visited Varul in the past, knowing that to return home would bring worry and heartache. How much better it would be if they could both just stay here? He sighed, Thane’s question forgotten as he pushed his breakfast around his plate, a frown on his face. 

“Kirryn? Are you all right?”

It was Fay’eth who spoke, concern in his voice.

They had no choice; they had to go home, go home and face all that they had to face. So Kirryn must put a brave face on it, and trust that Fay’eth would find a way for them to be together. He plastered a smile on his face. “Of course. Yes,” he turned his eyes to Thane. “I’m ready to go home. But it would have been nice to have stayed a little longer,” he couldn’t help but add.

Thane smiled, and then put his hand into a pocket and withdrew something, which he flicked to Kirryn. Kirryn caught the spinning disk of metal, and bent to examine it.

“That is my token,” Thane explained. “It will give you safe passage, should you ever want to come and visit Varul again.”

Kirryn realised what a great honour he was being given. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the decorated metal token into his pocket. “It is very kind of you. And, and I’m sorry about what I said last night...I...”

Thane held up his hand to stop Kirryn. “I know you did not understand. To you the matter was simple: we should have helped our fellow. That is a noble sentiment, and one that most of the time I would agree with. But sometimes the situation is such that you have to ignore what your heart is telling you to do, and do what the head tells you instead, however hard that might be. Now, you must finish your breakfast, we leave shortly,” he added, pushing his empty plate to one side and getting to his feet.

“But what about the, the Lyath?” Kirryn queried worriedly.

Thane grinned down at him. “Have no fear, young one, on the path we take today you need not fear becoming a quick snack for a wild beast!”

“What does he mean?” Kirryn asked Fay’eth once Thane had left the room. 

“You will see,” Fay’eth replied enigmatically. “Now, less talking, more eating: unless you want to go hungry, for you will not get chance to eat again before we reach Allaria.

They were ready and waiting in the courtyard when Thane and his men joined them. Kirryn was surprised when, instead of heading towards the gate where they had entered the night before, Thane led them towards an outcrop of rock at the far end of the courtyard from the gate. He frowned, but stayed silent, merely following his master closely.

Rounding the outcrop of rock, a great, iron door came into view, and Kirryn began to understand as Thane pulled the door open and the men began to file into the darkness beyond. Except the darkness wasn’t complete. Set at regular intervals were burning torches, and by their light Kirryn could see the narrow stone tunnel they walked along. The sides did not look as if they had been worked; they were smooth and bore no tool marks, and the tunnel itself was rounded in shape, with just a narrow strip of flat, sandy rock beneath their feet. The roof arched scant inches over the heads of the horses, and the air pressed close around them, warmer than the frigid air outside, and laced with the acrid stink of the smoke from the torches.

They walked for a long time. At first the pathway sloped steeply downwards, but soon it levelled out, and all Kirryn could hear was the tramp of the men’s feet, the clop of the horses’ hooves, and the muted sound of breathing. The men did not talk, and although Kirryn opened his mouth on a couple of occasions to speak, he shut it again without doing so. Eventually he became aware of an unfamiliar smell; a smell that cut through the fug of the torch smoke with a clean, fresh scent. He wondered what it was, and began to try and peer around the man in front of him to see if he could spot its origin.

Then the sand beneath his feet began to grow hard and damp, and before too much longer the light began to grow, and Kirryn realised they were nearing the end of the tunnel. He stopped short when they came out into the clear air, causing the man behind to stumble into him with a curse, before shouldering Kirryn out of the way. For before Kirryn was what he could only assume was an ocean. It spread out before him flat and almost motionless, shining with a flat, silvery-grey sheen like an unpolished sword blade; in the near distance a haze hung over its surface, and Kirryn was unable to tell where the water ended and the mist began.

They gathered on a strip of shingle that curved away to either side of them to form a great bow. The beach shelved gently before them, whilst behind were high cliffs of sheer black rock. About a hundred yards out into the bay a small, rounded island broke the surface of the water, and on the island was a strange structure: it looked like a huge doorway, made from some white stone that seemed to glitter in the hazy air. But it was a door to nowhere, for through it Kirryn could see the grass of the island. He could only assume the doorway led to places invisible; for this must be the portal.

A wind sighed softly, and Kirryn shivered. It was a lonely place; a lovely place, to be sure, but one that seemed somehow hushed and not quite of this world: as if it expected people to pass through, but not to stop and linger. It reminded Kirryn of the Gadel’tir. 

Kirryn turned his attention from the scenery and scanned the beach for his master. He spotted him some distance away, deep in conversation with Thane. Kirryn watched them, biting his lip as his insecurity once again reared its ugly head. The two men walked side by side, close together, their heads nearly touching as they conversed. Then they stopped, turned and faced one another. They spoke again for a moment, and then Thane leaned forward and took Fay’eth into his arms. Kirryn was so sure that they were going to kiss, that a spear of pain had shot through him before he had chance to realise the embrace had been brief, and that Thane and Fay’eth were now turning in his direction. He blushed to be discovered spying on them, and quickly turned back to the steel-grey sea. A few moments later Fay’eth was at his side.

“Kirryn?”

Kirryn turned to his master, and looked up into the turquoise eyes.

“I would say goodbye to you here,” Fay’eth said softly, placing a hand on Kirryn’s shoulder.

“G...goodbye?” Kirryn stammered, suddenly filled with dread.

“Time is against us, Kirryn, and once we are through the portal we will have to race with it to accomplish what we must. There will be no time...no time to....” He trailed off, looking intently at Kirryn, as if willing him to understand.

Kirryn nodded; he did understand. Once through the portal, the closeness they had shared here on Varul must, of necessity, be hidden. With a heavy heart, he said, “I see. Where… where will we enter Allaria?” he asked, as much to distract himself from what was to come as to know the answer.

“The main portal is some distance from Riversmeet. Thane can get us closer by using the secondary doorways, but it will still take a half-day’s hard riding to get home. Also,” Fay’eth paused. “We must make certain that we do not encounter ourselves.”

Kirryn frowned. How could they possibly meet themselves? 

Fay’eth saw his confusion. “We will be travelling in time, Kirryn, going back to before we were taken and pushed here into Varul. For a few hours we will exist in two places at the same time, and the closer we come to where we were when we left Allaria, the closer those two places become. Do you see?”

Realisation dawned slowly. “You mean, that for a while I’ll be in the woods behind Riversmeet, and also with you?”

“Exactly. Now listen carefully. We will be cloaked and hooded, so that no one will recognise us—”

“So someone can’t say they saw you in one place, and someone else could say they saw you somewhere else?” Kirryn interrupted.

Fay’eth flashed a grin. “It would be a trifle awkward to explain! Anyway, once we are close to Riversmeet, we will circle the hill and come down to the woods from above. As soon as we see the storm, and hear the crack of the shift, then we’ll know it is safe to return to the house, without worrying about meeting ourselves!”

Kirryn found it all very confusing. But his thoughts were distracted in another direction when Fay’eth took him into his arms and kissed him hard. Kirryn returned the kiss desperately, made miserable by the thought of how long it might be before he was able to again kiss his lover.

Thane interrupted them. “It is time to go,” he said. He had a rueful expression on his face, and his next words confirmed his reluctance to see them go. “I wish...I know it is futile, but I wish that you could stay. Both of you,” he added, his eyes turning to Kirryn.

“I wish it also,” Fay’eth said softly, pulling Kirryn to his side as his eyes met Thane’s. “But it cannot be. I have responsibilities; now more than ever.”

At a point opposite the small island a Varulfur stood on the beach holding three of the horses. Thane spoke. “This is where we part company. Astar will take you to Allaria, and as close to Riversmeet as he can—he is one of our best guides—and then, when you have reached your destination, he will return with the horses. They do not belong on your world, and would be unhappy if left there,” he added.

They were making their way along the strand towards where Astar was holding the horses, when Thane caught hold of Kirryn’s sleeve and slowed him until Fay’eth was out of earshot. “Fay’eth has many cares,” he said softly. “It may be that he will not wish you to become one of them. Sometimes we have to do things we would much rather not,” he added, repeating the words he had said to Kirryn in the cave.

Before Kirryn had a chance to ask Thane what he meant, they had reached the horses. Kirryn wondered how they were going to get to the island, when, to his surprise, the Varulfur, Astar, simply turned and began to walk into the sea, leading the horses. Kirryn expected the Varulfur to have to swim before he reached the island, but to his amazement the water did not even reach Astar’s knees before he was stepping out onto the rounded, grassy hump of the island. Thane smiled at them. “Do not be strangers,” he said. “You have my token, Kirryn,” he added. “You will be granted safe passage through my lands as long as you have that with you. And you,” he went on, turning to Fay’eth. “You have no excuse now not to visit, when your duties allow you. Now, hurry!” 

With one last, long look at Thane, Fay’eth and Kirryn turned to follow Astar out to the portal.

As soon as they had joined him on the island, Astar began to move his hands over the smooth, white pillars that stood to each side of the empty doorway. As he did so, strange symbols began to glow within the stone with a soft, golden light, and the air between the pillars started to shimmer, as if in a heat haze. Astar beckoned them forward. They each took hold of the reigns of one of the horses, and then, with a last wave at Thane, who stood watching them from the beach, they turned and stepped into the portal.

It was totally unlike their arrival in the Gadel’tir. One moment Kirryn was walking beneath the Varul sun, the next he was standing in Allaria. There was no disorientation, no sickness. He glanced behind him, wondering if perhaps he would get once last glimpse of Varul, but there was nothing, just a copy of the doorway like that on the island, beyond which stretched thick woodland. Turning back he found himself in a small forest clearing. Fay’eth was already mounting his horse, and Kirryn quickly scrambled onto his own mount.

Astar led them a short ride through the dense woodland, and then he warned them they were about to enter one of the secondary doorways. Kirryn could see nothing, but he rode forward, and one moment he was surrounded by trees, the next he was on a bare hillside, and the land around him looked somehow familiar.

“We are close to Brignall,” his master said. 

Kirryn remembered a small hamlet, about a day’s easy ride along the road from Riversmeet.

From there they rode like the wind, only walking the horses when it became necessary to let them catch their breath. Just after the sun had reached the top of its sky-spanning journey, Kirryn caught sight of the soft roll of hills that backed the house and woods of Riversmeet. Fay’eth slowed his horse, and they wound through a narrow valley between two peaks before a scrambling climb brought them, though scattered hangars of trees, to the top of the hill that stood directly behind Riversmeet. Now Kirryn gazed down on the thick woodland that covered the slope below, and in the distance he could just make out the house itself...he could also see the storm clouds that gathered threateningly above the trees, and it was with some astonishment that he realised that somewhere, amid the very trees he was staring at, his past self was now getting worried by those selfsame clouds. 

A shock of thunder split the air and a jagged streak of lightening crackled across the sky. Kirryn watched as Fay’eth turned to him, watched as his lover became his master again. 

“It is time to part company,” Lord Anarion said.

They were the words that Kirryn had been dreading hearing, and now they had been said. With a heavy heart he swung himself down off his horse and handed the reins to Astar. Lord Anarion did likewise, and then Astar bid them farewell, and cantered away.

Kirryn’s eyes met Lord Anarion’s, and he took a shaky step towards him, but his master shook his head. “No, Kirryn, we have said our goodbyes already.”

Kirryn bit his lip, fighting back the tears, then turned to make his way down through the woods to Riversmeet. It hurt. It hurt more than he had thought it possible to be hurt and still live. It was like a knife being driven into his chest, and it was all Kirryn could do to draw breath. Suddenly his resolved failed him, and, risking his master’s displeasure, he turned and ran back. His master let Kirryn hold him for a moment, and then pressed a hard kiss to Kirryn’s mouth before pushing him away. He did not speak, and his expression was stern, and this time Kirryn managed to force himself to keep walking away from the man he loved.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

It seemed strange to walk into the big kitchen at Riversmeet, and not have anyone remark on his absence. But to the servants busily working away there, Kirryn had only been gone a matter of hours. Only in his own head were memories of days spent with his master on another world. Gwydion passed him with a grin and a nudge, and the cook called out to him to direct him on some errand. And as quickly as that, Kirryn found himself enfolded back into life at Riversmeet.

He had wondered how he might cope with seeing Fay’eth, and yet not be able to go to him, to be held by him, but he needn’t have worried. He saw very little of his master. As soon as Lord Anarion returned from the woods, he went to the castle, and spent nearly all of the next three days there, calling back to Riversmeet only briefly, and even then Kirryn only caught glimpses of him.

But on the fourth day Kirryn was summoned to Lord Anarion’s study. Alive with anticipation, and hardly able to keep the grin off his face, Kirryn knocked at the heavy oak door, and heard his master bid him enter. He was not sure what he expected when he entered the study: maybe to be swept into Fay’eth’s arms, to be kissed, maybe more, but Lord Anarion was seated behind his desk, and did not even look up when Kirryn entered. The grin that had been tugging on the corners of Kirryn’s mouth faded, and he felt the first stirrings of worry.

“I will be returning to castle Anarion this afternoon,” Lord Anarion said without preamble, still engrossed with the paper he was working on.

“Mentak did mention that he thought we would be departing soon,” Kirryn said.

“I have decided that you will remain here.”

Kirryn could hardly believe his ears. “But...here? But I thought...”

“They are in need of another pair of hands here, and bearing in mind the trouble you got into at the castle, Mentak and I thought it prudent you should take the position here instead of returning with us.”

Kirryn felt the tears begin to prick at his eyes. He had known that he and Fay’eth would not be able to share the same intimacy that they had on Varul, but to be abandoned like this...

“But, but what about us,” he managed to stammer desperately.

Now Lord Anarion did look up, and Kirryn had cause to wish he hadn’t, for the turquoise eyes were stony, and his master’s expression stern.

“Us?” Lord Anarion frowned, and then said coldly. “There is no ‘us’.” He injected the word with incredulity, as if unable to fathom how Kirryn could possibly imagine that his master would ever consort with a mere serving boy.

“But...what about the times we shared...what about...” Kirryn gabbled, feeling himself begin to shake.

He was not given time to finish. Lord Anarion gave Kirryn a bored look. “You were a bed warmer, that is all: a distraction.” And then he returned his gaze to his papers, whilst Kirryn’s world crumbled.

“If you don’t want me, I shan’t stay here, I’ll leave!” Kirryn managed to croak through his tear-swollen throat.

“You will do no such thing!” Lord Anarion snapped, his eyes darting back to Kirryn. “May I remind you that you are sworn to me for three years, and unless I see fit to release you before that time, you will remain in my service. You may go,” he added.

Stunned, Kirryn could think of nothing he could do or say, and he slowly turned and made his way from the room. Outside, the tears that had been threatening to fall, now trickled down his face, and he let out a sob of pure misery.

“Ah, Kirryn, lad, it’s not so bad!” A hand was clapped on his shoulder. It was Mentak. “Besides,” he went on. “ I thought you liked it better here at Riversmeet? You have made a firm friend in Gwydion, that’s for sure.” He gazed at Kirryn with friendly concern.

Kirryn shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. 

Mentak frowned. “Is the thought of staying here really so terrible? Perhaps I could...” he trailed off, his eyes flicking towards the study door.

For a moment Kirryn considered asking Mentak to intervene on his behalf, to plead with Lord Anarion to let Kirryn return to the castle when they left that afternoon. But what was the point? Lord Anarion had made it clear he felt nothing for Kirryn. Maybe it would be best if he was not reminded of the intimacy they had shared, of the love he felt for Fay’eth—and the dreadful betrayal that had just occurred.

“N...no,” he managed to stammer. “I’ll be fine here, really. I’ll, I’m—I have work,” he managed to add, before turning and hurrying away.

Up in the little attic room he shared with Gwydion, Kirryn fell onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and sobbed. He felt sick, his head throbbed and his body shook with the intensity of his misery. He would never be happy again, he was sure. How could he have so mistaken Lord Anarion’s feelings for him? Suddenly he recalled Thane’s words to him, in the cave and on the beach, and an awful understanding of same dawned on him. Thane had known: he had known that Lord Anarion intended to abandon Kirryn and was trying to warn him with those words “he has many cares; he may not wish you to become one of them.” And “sometime we have to do things we would much rather not”: surely they referred to Lord Anarion having to sleep with Kirryn in order to protect him from the Varulfur? Kirryn felt as if his insides were being wrenched by a giant fist. He curled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, the tears falling constantly from his eyes.

At some point he must have sobbed himself to sleep, for he awoke to find Gwydion shaking him awake to come down for the evening meal, and the party for castle Anarion long departed.

The next morning they awoke to find the world covered in white. Kirryn and Gwydion hurried down to the big kitchen, Gwydion chattering excitedly about the fun they would have in the snow, Kirryn trying to hide his misery from his friend. He did not succeed, however. As they entered the kitchen Gwydion turned to him. 

“Is everything all right, Kirryn? Only, only you’re very quiet and,” Gwydion continued, having finally given Kirryn his full attention, “you look like you haven’t slept...and you’ve been crying,” he added, his voice dropping, and worry underlining his words. He looked with concern at Kirryn. “Do you mind very much that they didn’t take you with them back to the castle?”

Kirryn was happy for Gwydion to come to his own conclusion as to the cause of Kirryn’s misery. 

“I thought you liked it here? I thought you liked me,” Gwydion went on, a sad note creeping into his voice. “I thought we were friends?”

Kirryn managed to force a smile, and reached out and gave Gwydion’s arm a squeeze. “We are friends,” he said. “And it’s because of you that I’m sure I’ll get used to being here instead of the castle,” he went on, knowing in his heart that he would never get used to being away from the man he loved...even if that man did not love him back. He pushed that thought from his mind, before it brought more tears to his eyes, and went and set about his morning duties.

Every day the snow was thicker, until it blanketed the world around them a good three feet deep. There was talk of whether the master and his party would make it over the pass to castle Anarion or if they would have to return to Riversmeet to spend the winter there. For several days Kirryn lived with the hope that Fay’eth would come riding back into the yard at Riversmeet, just as part of him cursed himself for a fool. Fay’eth had made his feelings clear. His return would not change the situation between them, and Fay’eth showing not one glimmer of warmth or affection towards Kirryn would just make his heart ache all the more. 

But the days passed, and no party came clattering into the yard, and it was decided that Lord Anarion must have made it home before the snows fell too thickly in the mountains. And in time, Kirryn managed to hide away his misery deep within himself. He was able to smile more often, and even to play in the snow with Gwydion and the other servants. The pain never left him, but he became more used to bearing it.

The night of Hirnos came, midwinter, and with it the traditional feast. The kitchen at Riversmeet was decked out with evergreen boughs tied about with strings of scarlet and gold thread as a plea to the sun to come back and spend more time shining down upon them all. Two days beforehand everyone had written their name on a scrap of parchment, then the papers had been divided into men and women, and placed into two small oak casks. It was Master Elladan’s job to pick out a paper from each cask to play the two parts in the Hirnos ceremony. The first name drawn was that of Mellor, one of the stable lads; it was to be his honour that year to play the part of the Golden Stag. The second name drawn was Cessida, a housemaid. To her went the role of Forwyn, the night maiden. There was much nudging, winking and smothered sniggering at this choice. It was well known that Mellor had long harboured a desire for Cessida; whilst she, although outwardly wanting nothing to do with him, was known to look on him with a fond eye when she thought he wasn’t looking. The Hirnos ceremony was usually a riotous, merry occasion, and the Golden Stag often caught the night maiden in more ways than one. Hirnos was also the cause of an increase in the number of babies born in early autumn.

The kitchen was in semi-darkness, with only a few scattered candles lighting the room, but when Gwydion and Kirryn entered they could see the huge kitchen table was groaning under the weight of food that had been placed in bowls and on platters down the centre of the board. Shining pewter tankards and cutlery marked each place setting, and they quickly took their seats. Despite his underlying misery, Kirryn could not keep the smile off his face, or stop the sense of anticipation as the appointed time for the ceremony drew close. Hirnos was celebrated all over Allaria, but Kirryn had never witnessed the ceremony before. Turais had regarded it with a rather scathing eye, and the villagers of Woodedge would not have welcomed him, had Kirryn tried to attend alone.

Slowly the chattering ceased, and the kitchen grew tense with anticipation, and then from somewhere came the tinkling of silvery bells. Cessida, dressed as Forwyn, the night maiden, in trailing wisps of black and grey silken material, her face painted white, danced into the room. Slowly she circled the table, swirling the fronds of material around her, representing the night and its moon. She looked so spectral, so ghostly, that Kirryn shivered. A horn blared from outside, and the Golden Stag charged into the room. Mellor’s costume was of heavy gold and red velvet, and atop his head was attached a pair of stag’s antlers. He was the sun, and it was his job to catch the night maiden and strip her of her long-night costume. 

Mellor played his part well; he chased Cessida, who swirled and danced out of his way, trying to evade his attempts to catch her. But try as she might, she could not always avoid the stag’s horns as Mellor ducked his head and lunged towards her, catching strands of the trailing material on the points of the antlers and snatching them from her clothing. As he circled the room behind Cessida, Mellor lit candles, and soon the kitchen glowed with light: the sun was triumphing over the night maiden, and before long Cessida’s last trailing wreaths of cloth were snatched away, leaving her lithe and lovely in a gown of soft grey wool. Then the Golden Stag became Mellor again, and he caught Cessida and kissed her soundly. There was much laughter and applause, and the feast began.

Kirryn turned to Gwydion, and found his friend returning his gaze with a grin, and twinkling grey eyes. He was so handsome, and Kirryn suddenly wondered why none of the girls seemed interested in Gwydion. He often overheard them speaking of their like for this or that boy, but never had Gwydion’s name been mentioned in their conversations. He pondered over it for a few moments, until he was distracted by the jokes and laughter that were flying up and down the table. 

The drink flowed freely, and it was with a feeling of dizziness that Kirryn finally got to his feet late in the night to go to his bed. Gwydion accompanied him, and arm in arm they staggered up the stairs, giggling to hear the sounds of coupling coming from behind so many doors. They reached their own room and entered, and then Gwydion turned to Kirryn and, much to his astonishment, kissed him. 

For a moment Kirryn was too surprised to react, then he pushed Gwydion away. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Gwydion looked dismayed. “I’m sorry, I thought...that is...I thought you were like me.”

Kirryn sat down heavily on his bed. “Like you?” he queried.

Gwydion lowered himself onto his own bed. His eyes were blurry with tears, and his voice shook when he answered. “Like me...that, that you like boys...not girls,” he stammered.

The light began to dawn on Kirryn. “Do they, do they know? Here? At Riversmeet?”

Gwydion nodded. “Of course. It’s why I came here.”

Kirryn frowned. “Why you came here?”

“I started out at the castle, like you. But when it became known that I, well, that I...”

“Liked boys,” Kirryn supplied.

Gwydion nodded again. “Yes. Well, when it became known, some of the others tried to cause trouble.”

“Shadir,” Kirryn said with sudden insight. “That’s how you knew him.”

“Yes. He, well, he didn’t like me...what I was.... Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he would bully me, hit me.... Well, one day he made the mistake of doing it in sight of Lord Anarion. He was punished, severely. And I was brought here. I thought that perhaps that was why Lord Anarion had left you here too.”

Kirryn shook his head. “No, it’s not the reason. Well, I mean, I am like you, but....” He stopped suddenly, desperately trying to gulp down the tears.

Gwydion looked at him with growing concern. “Oh, Kirryn, whatever is it? Oh! Oh no,” he went on, a note of horror entering his voice, and a look of dawning realisation on his face. “There is someone at the castle, isn’t there? That’s why you didn’t want to stay here? Oh, Kirryn, I’m so sorry. But surely, surely, if he loves you, he’ll wait for you...or, or find a way to come here?”

Kirryn shook his head, finally giving up and allowing the tears to fall. “He doesn’t care about me at all,” he sobbed.

Gwydion rose quickly, and came to sit by Kirryn’s side, drawing the crying boy into his arms. He didn’t speak, just held Kirryn close, and stroked his hair softly. It was comforting, and for a fleeting moment or two, Kirryn wondered whether he should just accept that Fay’eth no longer wanted him, and seek love somewhere else. Another thought then occurred to him: perhaps this was the very reason Lord Anarion had left Kirryn here at Riversmeet? So that he could forget his love for his lord and master, and form a relationship with Gwydion?

He carefully disentangled himself from Gwydion’s arms, and managed a watery smile. “Thank you,” he said, “for being so kind. I...I...we...if I didn’t love him so much....” he trailed off, unable to think of what to say.

Gwydion smiled. “It’s all right. And who knows,” he went on, his grin broadening, “one day you may forget him, and then I’ll be here.” He reached out and tousled Kirryn’s hair, then rose to his feet. “And now we’d better get some sleep,” he said, starting to take off his clothes. 

Gwydion and Kirryn’s friendship became even closer after the night of Hirnos, and it was a comfort to Kirryn to have Gwydion’s sympathy and support. He never told his friend about what had happened between himself and Lord Anarion—it was just too hard to think about; a mixture of blissful happiness and abject misery—but Gwydion knew that someone had broken Kirryn’s heart, and that alone was a comfort. Gwydion never tried to kiss Kirryn again, but Kirryn knew that his friend was only waiting for Kirryn to give him a sign that he was ready to move on. Kirryn himself doubted that time would ever come. He loved Fay’eth with all his heart, despite his rejection, and couldn’t conceive that he would ever love anyone else.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

The year crept to a close in a series of still, frigidly cold days, and then, two days into the New Year, a messenger arrived at Riversmeet, and he brought dreadful tidings...and a summons to war.

The man had struggled through the deep snow to arrive in the courtyard at Riversmeet, shaking with cold and famished. He had ridden many miles, and had many more to go. But before he continued on his journey he allowed himself to be seated before the kitchen fire and fed. However, he would not stay after he had delivered his news; he had more places to visit to spread the word to the men to come and fight. 

For Allaria was being invaded. In the dead of winter, when fighting men were supposed to be resting by their home fires, the unthinkable had happened: the army of Terra’lest had been sighted rounding the end of the mountains, far to the north, on their way to the heartland of Allaria. Lord Anarion was walled in by snow in the fastness that was castle Anarion, and the core of the army was with him, so every man and boy capable of bearing arms was being summoned to Cor-Caroli to meet the invaders. It had never been imagined that the armies of Allaria’s enemy would attempt the northern passage round the mountain and especially not in the depths of winter. The land up there was inhospitable and treacherous with rifts and marshlands; trackless, there was hardly passage to be found for a single man, let alone an army. How it had been achieved, no one knew. They knew only that it had, and that the threat was real and close at hand. Cor-Caroli was the largest outpost in that part of Allaria, and it was there that the men were being called to muster.

When the messenger had finished telling his grave news, the servants of Riversmeet sat in stunned silence. None of them quite realised what it meant for them, until Mordan, the head of the stable yard staff and the Captain of arms, got to his feet. Slowly he called out the names of three men, Master Elladan’s among them. “You three will remain here,” he said solemnly. “Cook, organise a week’s rations for all the other men.” The cook got to her feet, a look of bewilderment and dismay on her face. Her hand went to cover her mouth, and her eyes were wide and full of tears.

Mordan turned to the rest of the gathered staff. “All you others, pack light; we have a tough march ahead of us, and we cannot afford to tarry. We leave in two hours,” he continued.

For a moment, the silence persisted, and then voices were raised in a babble of questions and exclamations. There were cries of disbelief, and one of the young maids began to cry. It took Kirryn a few seconds to realise just what was going on, and then he turned to Gwydion...to find his friend white with shock and shaking. 

“Can it be true?” Gwydion whispered. “Are we really going to have to fight? I’ve never...I’ve never...I’m not sure I can....”

Kirryn swallowed down his own fear. “We’ll have to,” he said bravely. 

Gwydion seemed rooted to the spot, so Kirryn had to tug his arm to get him to move. Silently they went to their room, and began to pack some small things into their packs. There was a knock on the door, and numbly Kirryn turned to answer it. 

It was Master Elladan. He held out a fur cloak to Kirryn. “For you,” he said abruptly. “I’ll not have need of it, and I know the one you have will not keep you warm.” He thrust the fur into Kirryn’s hand, and then walked away, his shoulders stooped. 

Kirryn held the fur in his hands, looking down at it and remembering the fur cloak he had been given by the Varulfur. The morning they had left Varul, he and Lord Anarion had put aside their Varulfur clothing and dressed themselves in their Allarian clothes, exactly as they had been dressed when they were shifted to Varul. Kirryn had deeply regretted the loss of his cloak.

All together, twenty-three men had assembled by the time Kirryn and Gwydion entered the courtyard at the back of Riversmeet house, and it wasn’t just the cold that caused the men to look white and pinched. They were not fighters — they were stable boys, farmers, and house-servants — but Mordan issued each of them a weapon, and told them to look after it. Kirryn stared blankly at the sword he had been given. Even sheathed as it was in its scabbard, it looked deadly, menacing, heavy in his hand, and briefly Kirryn remembered that seemingly long-ago day when he had watched his master so deftly wield his great sword on the practice ground at the castle, as if it weighed nothing at all, as if it was an extension of himself. Kirryn wondered how he was ever going to find the courage, and the strength, to wield this sword; to thrust it at another man, to kill. But if it came to a choice between kill or be killed, Kirryn knew what he would do. 

If only the Varulfur were here...men who loved fighting. Kirryn jerked with a sudden thought: maybe, maybe he could somehow get back to the portal and ask Thane for help...but then his hope dwindled as he remembered that the secondary doorways could only be seen by the Varulfur with their strange eyes, and that even if he could somehow find the main portal, he did not know how to open it. 

“Ready?” Mordan’s voice cut loudly through Kirryn’s thoughts. Slowly the assembled men formed themselves into two columns and, with many a backward glance towards the womenfolk who had gathered to wish them well, they marched out of the yard.

It was a gruelling march. The snow was deep, even on the roads and tracks they followed. On the second day they were passed by the prince’s own Royal Cavalry Guard, resplendent in blue and silver. The men from Riversmeet cleared off the road to allow them passage, and cheered as they trotted past. The prince himself led the column of riders, and by his side was his sister, Fliss. She glanced at the Riversmeet men as they rode through them, and her eyes briefly met Kirryn’s. He saw her start of recognition, and then she sent him a worried smile before she passed on down the road.

As they went on they were joined by more and more men, carrying an assortment of weapons, from great swords and longbows, to sickles and staves. They camped at night, huddling around the meagre fires, each group of men with their own fellows. They ate sparingly, nibbling on their rations, trying to make them last, and then lying down on the hard, freezing ground to try and snatch some sleep before dawn. They ate their breakfast as they marched. At first they had talked among themselves, but as the days went on, and they became more and more weary from the forced march, talk dried to silence; all their energy reserved for putting one foot before the other. At least now the going was better. They were following a host of men who had tramped down the snow to slush. Soon it would turn to mud, and Kirryn tried not to think about those men behind them who would have to wade through its sucking, grasping filth.

They marched beneath the great stone gateway of Cor-Caroli at nightfall on the fifth day. Footsore and weary, many of them were sick from the cold and exhaustion. Gwydion and Kirryn had kept each other going; each one finding the strength to support the other when needed, but they were desperately, bone-achingly tired, and Gwydion’s feet were bloody from where his boots had rubbed through his hose and chafed his skin.

They entered a huge central courtyard, dotted everywhere with camp fires, and were greeted by a guard who pointed them in the direction of a small clear area where they could make their own fire. Putting Mellor in charge of settling the men and lighting a fire, Mordan went with the guard to meet with the castle commander.

The men from Riversmeet picked their way carefully around the knots of men seated around each small fire: men whose grubby, sober faces were given a hellish glow by the burning embers. There was little chatter, the men too weary and too burdened with worry to speak beyond the necessary, each one of them keenly feeling their vulnerability. Kirryn glanced around him as he walked, and his alarm increased; there seemed so few men to face the coming challenge. The small group found their allotted space, Kirryn and Gwydion were sent to gather firewood from a pile that had been stacked against a nearby wall, and soon they were all seated around a welcome fire, holding their hands out to the warmth. They took the opportunity to strip off their footwear; to mend torn hose; to cobble and patch boots. Servants from the castle approached them with a cauldron of good, hot stew and baskets of bread, and the men fell to eating with alacrity.

Kirryn awoke early the following morning, to find the huge courtyard beginning to come to life with sound and activity. Men were re-kindling the fires, standing in line to collect water from the well, tidying their individual camps. Some men were marching out under the stone battlements, through the huge, iron gate, presumably on patrol. 

Kirryn shook Gwydion awake. “Gwydion? Wake up. Come on!”

Gwydion moaned, and attempted to pull his thin blanket over his head. “Leave me alone, Kirryn, let me sleep.”

But then Mordan’s voice was added. “Come on, fellows. Let’s show these others what Lord Anarion’s men are made of!”

At the sound of Lord Anarion’s name, several men from the other camps looked round at them. And one man rose and made his way over to the Riversmeet party. “Lord Anarion’s men?” he asked.

Mordan nodded. “Aye.”

The man’s expression became eager. “From the castle? Then Anarion is come?” His voice rose on the last, and now more men came to surround their camp fire, excitedly asking how soon they may expect to see the full force of Anarion’s army.

“Nay! “ Mordan explained. “We’re from his Lordship’s manor of Riversmeet. As far as I know, Lord Anarion is still fast at the castle.”

The men’s dejection was hard to watch. They stumbled away, back to their own camps, their expressions returned to that of fatalistic misery, as if already sure of their own death.

Mordan refused to let his own men fall into such a dejection. He had them scurrying hither and thither on what Kirryn was sure were unnecessary errands, until there really was nothing left for them to do but sit around their fire and wait until they were told what had to be done by those higher up the chain of command. By Kirryn’s side, Gwydion huddled into his cloak, pulling the hood over his head to hide his face, which he dropped onto his drawn up knees. Kirryn regarded his friend worriedly, and then turned to Mordan.

“May we go and explore the castle for a little while?” he asked, his eyes flicked suggestively in Gwydion’s direction.

Mordan followed his glance, and then nodded. “Aye, but don’t get in the way...and don’t go where you shouldn’t,” he added, with a half smile. “I know how you and Gwydion like to get into trouble!”

Kirryn grinned, and then jumped to his feet, and pulled Gwydion to his. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go and see what the castle is like.”

Gwydion looked reluctant, but Kirryn was not going to let his friend sit and sink into terrified misery, and he caught Gwydion by the arm and led him towards a nearby doorway.

The castle was huge. Unlike castle Anarion, which was formed of a number of separate towers, the castle at Cor-Caroli was made up of one enormous fortress surrounding the central courtyard when the men were gathering. The four formidable high walls were linked at the corners by great round turrets. The doorway Kirryn had chosen led into a narrow corridor that was packed with people, and the two boys had to push their way through the crowds. Their noses led them to the kitchens, which were a maelstrom of activity as the castle staff cooked up vast cauldrons of stews, baked bread, roasted meat and made pies in order to feed the assembling army. They looked on with amazement for a few moments, until they were shooed away by a ferocious looking cook wielding a carving knife. 

They passed granaries, still rooms, and armouries. At a forge they again halted to watch the great, red-faced blacksmith beat straight a hefty long-sword, the coals of the forge white hot at the centre, and where a small boy, wet through with sweat, worked the great bellows that fed air to the fire

Stairs took them higher into the castle, and the crush of folk became less. Only personal maids and menservants hurried along the narrow passages, and through open doorways the two boys caught sight of well-appointed bedrooms and solar. They came upon one of turret rooms, a great round room, empty of any furniture, but light with the windows that looked out on two sides. There was someone sitting on one of the window ledges, and the boys were about to hurry quietly past—knowing that really they had strayed into a part of the castle where they should not have been—when the lady turned to them. It was Princess Fliss, Prince Pavo’s sister. Kirryn dropped quickly into a low bow, pulling Gwydion down also. 

“Your pardon, your highness,” Kirryn said hurriedly. “We did not mean to intrude.”

“Kirryn?”

Kirryn looked up, startled that this great lady had not only remembered him, but also seemed to know his name.

“Yes, your highness.” 

Fliss beckoned them closer. “But Kirryn, how do you come to be here? I thought I saw you on the road, but then decided I must be wrong, for surely you should be with Fay...with Lord Anarion?”

Kirryn hoped his face didn’t betray his feelings. “I remained at Riversmeet, your highness, when Lord Anarion returned to the castle. He thought it best,” he added, without quite knowing why he felt it necessary to qualify that the decision to remain at Riversmeet hadn’t been his.

“Did he?” Fliss regarded Kirryn steadily for a moment or two, a slight frown on her forehead. Then she turned to Gwydion. “And who is your friend?” she asked.

Gwydion, red-faced and tongue tied in the face of such an exalted personage, was drawn forward and introduced.

“And so you are exploring the castle?” 

“Indeed, your highness,” Kirryn answered. “We thought it would be...would be a distraction,”

There was the sudden sound of pattering feet, and a maidservant scampered into the room. “Oh, Madam, here you are!” she gasped, having obviously run some distance in search of her mistress. “His royal highness has asked for your presence in the Green Salon, Madam.”

Fliss rose to her feet. “Then we must hasten, Leida,” she said with a smile. Then she turned to Kirryn and Gwydion, and her expression became solemn. “Fear not, Kirryn, Gwydion. Stand firm and protect each other. May the god of soldiers protect you.” She started to turn away, and then paused and turned back to Kirryn, her startling blue eyes fixed on his golden ones. “Remember, Kirryn, sometimes things are not always as they seem.” She smiled at them once more, and then she and her maid left.

Gwydion turned to Kirryn. “What did she mean? That things are not always as they seem?”

Kirryn was frowning. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. He was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Come on, let’s see if we can find a way onto the battlements.”

After several twists and turns and a long flight of stone steps, Kirryn eventually pushed open a heavy oak door and they found themselves high up on the castle parapet. They had come out slightly to the right of the main castle gateway, facing towards the north. To Kirryn’s left, the beginnings of the Windgather Mountains rose away in long, purple hills that climbed steadily to the first dizzying, snow-capped peaks. Kirryn’s eyes traced them as they marched southward, knowing that far beyond his sight, in a valley in the mountains, was Fay’eth. He swallowed hard, and dragged his eyes back to the sight before him. To his right, nearly at the foot of the castle itself, a forest began. It stretched away as far as he could see, dark green with pines; distantly he could hear the sound of axes. 

Right before the castle, the two boys looked down onto a field which was thronged with more men, who had arrived in the night and found no place within the walls of the castle itself. There were countless camp fires, and men and horses, and wagons and dogs, and children who scampered between the various camps. It looked like a great horde of men, and Kirryn felt his spirits lift at the sight of them. Perhaps the odds were not so long as he had thought, as long as the other men had seemed to think. He smiled as he thought of hurrying back to the little Riversmeet camp and imparting the good news. Then Gwydion gasped. Kirryn turned to his friend, to find Gwydion pale and wide eyed, staring into the far distance. Kirryn’s eyes followed where Gwydion was looking, and then his mouth dropped open with dread. For now he could see a vast cloud on the horizon, the sort of cloud caused by an enormous army on the march, and the cloud stretched from the foot of the mountains, to the edge of the forest. 

Without a word, the two boys turned, and fled back to their camp to tell of the approaching enemy. By the time they reached the group of Riversmeet men, their news was old news. But instead of the frantic preparations they had expected, the men were still seated glumly around the camp fire. They were tending to bits of mending, sharpening blades, rewinding cord on sword hilts, and Alain was refletching the arrows that went with his great longbow.

“Shouldn’t we...I mean, don’t we need to be...” Kirryn gestured towards the castle gateway. “The enemy are coming!” He almost shouted.

“Sit down, and stop being in such a hurry to fight,” Mordan said gruffly. 

“But...but,” Kirryn stammered, confused by the men’s lack of urgency.

“Sit!” Mordan ordered. “There be a few days yet before we’ll be called to the field.”

“A few days? But the enemy are on the horizon.”

“Aye, and it’ll take them a day or so to get here, and another to set up their camp.” Mordan shot Kirryn a tight, mirthless smile. “You’ve a few days of life left yet, young Kirryn. I should go and make the most of it!” He nodded in the direction of a serving wench, who was threading her way through the knots of men with a large basket of bread. 

Kirryn blushed, and quickly seated himself, trying to ignore the ribald comments of the others. Gwydion shot him a sympathetic look.

To pass the time, Kirryn and Gwydion joined with a few of the other men who were trying to learn the basics of using the various weapons that had been allocated to them. Gwydion and Kirryn were placed under the tutelage of an old man with one eye called Yanek, who drilled them mercilessly on how to cut, thrust and parry. It caused Kirryn to remember once again that wonderful display of swordsmanship he had witnessed at castle Anarion. He now knew how Lord Anarion had become so proficient with the blade, and how he had seemed to treat the length of metal as if it weighed little more than air: he had been trained by the Varulfur, and was used to their much heavier weapons. By the end of the three days, Kirryn and Gwydion had gained a little knowledge about the use of a sword, enough to know that it simply wasn’t enough.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

He awoke to find himself lying on a narrow bed, covered by a cream-coloured woollen blanket, in a small, whitewashed room filled with cold winter sunshine. His head hurt so badly he could hardly open his eyes, he felt sick and dizzy, and he was parched from thirst. Something seemed to be wrapped around his head, partially covering his left eye, and, wincing, Kirryn raised his hand to feel what it was.

“You’re awake!” came a familiar voice from by his side, and Gwydion leaned over the bed, a look of concern mingled with relief on his face. “I’m so pleased, I thought, we all thought...well, I must go and fetch Master Rolf, he said to come and get him if...as soon as you woke up. Do you want anything before I go?”

“Water,” Kirryn managed to say. 

“Of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought.” Gwydion disappeared from Kirryn’s sight, and moments later he heard the wonderful sound of liquid splashing into a cup. Then Gwydion was leaning over him again, and he held a cup to Kirryn’s mouth.

Kirryn took a sip of wonderful, cool water, and closed his eyes as it washed over his dry tongue and down his sore throat. He took a few more sips, and then Gwydion took the cup away, and with a quick “I’ll be back soon,” left the room.

Kirryn lay on the bed and drifted. He felt on the edge of sleep, but forced himself to stay awake. He was so full of confusion. How did he come to be here? The fact that he was somehow still alive caused him to believe that perhaps Allaria had won the battle...but how? Surely they had been outnumbered...and they were being pushed back...but then something, someone...a Varulfur? The Varulfur had come. He remembered more fighting...then a vague recollection of his feet slipping on the gore-drenched field...then nothing. He couldn’t recall how he had been hurt, or how he came to be in this room, wherever it was. But what were the Varulfur doing there? There were so many questions—and one that Kirryn refused to voice, even in his pounding head—that he closed his eyes and decided to give up the battle to stay awake. Then the door to the room opened, and Kirryn forced his eyes open again. An old man bustled in, his white, thinning hair a wild halo around his head, closely followed by Gwydion. 

The man looked surprised to see Kirryn awake. “Goodness, lad, they must make heads of iron where you come from. That blow should have killed you,” he said frankly. He approached the bed, and leaned in to feel Kirryn’s forehead. “Hmm, your fever has broken. That’s good. Has he had some water?” he asked Gwydion, who nodded. “Then sleep is the best thing for you,” the old man said, crossing to a table at one side of the room. Kirryn watched him through half closed eyes. The doctor, as Kirryn took him to be, retrieved a small bottle from his pocket, and added a few drops from it to a cup of water. This he made Kirryn drink, and as the last mouthful was sliding down Kirryn’s throat, his eyes were shutting and sleep claimed him.

When he woke again the room was lit by a single candle and the light from a small fire in a grate to his left, and Gwydion was asleep in a chair to Kirryn’s left. The pain in Kirryn’s head had dulled to a mild ache, and he felt much better. Whatever it had been that the doctor had given him, it had worked well. Kirryn realised that he needed to use the latrine, and he struggled to sit up in bed. Gwydion was awake in a moment, reaching for Kirryn to push him back to the pillow. 

“No! I need...I need the latrine,” Kirryn cried.

“I’ll get the pot,” Gwydion said. “You wait there.”

With Gwydion’s help, Kirryn used the chamber pot, and then subsided on his pillow, wearier from the small amount of exertion than he could believe. He was tempted to go back to sleep again, but there were so many questions in his head, and he needed answers.

“What happened,” he began. “Did we win?”

“We did!” Gwydion grinned.

“How?” Kirryn demanded. “I know the Varulfur came,” he went on, before Gwydion had a chance to answer his first question. “But first, some water,” Kirryn demanded, suddenly realising how thirsty he was again. Once Gwydion had presented him with a cup of water, and Kirryn had drunk half of it without pausing for breath, he sunk back on his pillow and looked at Gwydion expectantly. “Well?”

Gwydion settled on his chair, and began. “Well, it was incredible, just as we thought that we were going to lose—we were being pushed back further and further, and there were just so many of them—then suddenly all these Varulfur turned up, as if from no-where,” Gwydion shivered. “They are really scary, although I’m not so frightened of them now as I used to be, since they...”

“What happened?!” Kirryn demanded.

“Well, they waded into the battle, like...like demons! And with them—you’ll never guess!” Gwydion said, his eyes shining. He paused.

“Tell me!”

“Well, with them was Lord Anarion and the army from the castle!” Gwydion finished with triumph.

Kirryn’s heart skipped a beat and his stomach knotted with fear. “He...he’s all right, isn’t he?” he asked with a voice that quavered as he spoke.

Gwydion frowned. “Is who all right?”

“Lord...Lord Anarion?” Kirryn managed to say.

“Lord Anarion? Of course he’s all right.”

Kirryn felt like crying with relief, but he couldn’t give way to his feelings in front of Gwydion, it might cause him to ask uncomfortable questions. “But how did he get here?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s a really amazing story,” Gwydion said with a grin. “He led them through a secret tunnel in the mountains!”

It was Kirryn’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know that castle Anarion gets cut off by snow ever year? Well, what no one knew is that there is a secret way through the mountains, in a tunnel made by the river. The river was frozen of course, and so the army where able to march on it through the tunnels, and out near the Postern, from there they came as fast as they could to Cor Caroli...and arrived just in time,” he finished with a look of relief.

“But how did they know to come?”

“Ah,” Gwydion’s expression became solemn. “It seems that the invasion was all down to Lady Anarion’s—although she’s not anymore—brother,” Gwydion said.

“What?” Kirryn asked, more confused than ever.

“Lycopus,” Gwydion said in a rush. “Lady, I mean Lyn...Lynaria’s brother. It was him who led the army from Terra l’est. It seems they promised him the throne of Allaria if he led the invasion using his magic to help them. He made the way for them to round the end of the mountains to the north.”

Kirryn was astonished. “And Lady Anarion knew?” he demanded.

“Yes, that’s why she was so keen to get back to the Castle before Hirnos, she wanted to make sure Lord Anarion was stuck in the mountains before her brother brought the Terra l’est army, so that the castle force couldn’t help defeat them—she didn’t know about the tunnel, no one did except Lord Anarion himself,” Gwydion finished.

Kirryn’s head was whirling. So, Lord Anarion’s own wife had betrayed him — and had been put aside as a result?

“But that’s not all,” Gwydion went on, grinning with self-importance at the news he was about to impart. “Guess who else has turned up? Lord Anarion’s brother!” He watched Kirryn eagerly to see what reaction his news would cause.

“His...his brother?” Kirryn stammered. “But...but I thought he was dead?”

“Everyone assumed he was,” Gwydion said excitedly, “but it turns out he was...he had gone through...some sort of magic doorway.” Gwydion’s face now wore a puzzled look, but Kirryn’s didn’t. He knew just what it was that Gwydion was trying to describe. “Anyway, it seems he got stuck...somewhere, but now he’s found his way back. So...so I suppose that, really, he’s Lord Anarion now, because he’s the oldest.” 

Before Kirryn had a chance to digest the news, the door to the room opened, and an outraged Master Rolf looked through it at them. “What is going on here!” he demanded. “Gwydion, I gave you strict instructions that you were not to tire our patient, and yet I find you chattering away like a jay, in the middle of the night! Come away at once. Falco will take over for a few hours. And you,” he went on, glaring at Kirryn, “lie down and go back to sleep at once.”

Gwydion scurried from the room with a haste that spoke volumes about Master Rolf’s temper, and Falco took his place in the chair by Kirryn’s bed, a huge grin on his face. He reached over and tousled Kirryn’s hair. “Hello, young ‘un! It’s good to see you again...although it would have been better still if you’d had the sense to duck that war club!”

“No talking!” Master Rolf snapped, and then poured another dose of the sleeping draught down Kirryn’s throat.

It was day again when Kirryn woke the third time. And this time he felt almost like himself again. There was still a dull throbbing in his head, but he felt quite able to quietly get out of bed so as not to disturb the sleeping Falco, and then tiptoe out of the room in search of a latrine. Kirryn had presumed he was somewhere in the Cor Caroli castle, and, indeed, when he ventured along the corridor, he found that he recognised where he was. It was cold, though, so he did not dawdle on his necessary trip, and soon pattered back to his room, where he found Falco staring comically aghast at the empty bed.

“Vicia!” He exclaimed when he saw Kirryn. “I thought you’d been snatched by the Cedwyn Nos! What on earth are you doing out of bed? Master Rolf will string me up if he finds I have let you out of my sight!”

Kirryn grinned. It was good to see Falco again. He told the other boy so as he dutifully clambered back into bed. “Is Gryff not with you?” he asked.

Falco’s face fell and he swallowed hard. “Aye, he came, but he fell on the field,” he said shortly.

Kirryn caught his breath. “Oh, Falco, I’m so sorry. I...I didn’t know him very well, but he seemed nice.” News of Gryff’s death brought Kirryn up short. “How many...how many others?” he managed to ask.

“Too many,” Falco said shortly, “but they were lives that bought our freedom, and crushed the Terra l’est army, so they were not in vain. We have very many men and women, to who we owe our lives, and who will never be forgotten for the price they paid for us.”

The door opened, and a servant brought in a tray, from which drifted the wonderful scent of porridge smothered with milk and honey. Kirryn’s stomach rumbled, and it did not take him many minutes to devour the whole bowl full, along with the two slices of fresh-made bread than accompanied it. While he ate, Falco supplied him with a few more details of the battle, which made Kirryn realise just how narrow a victory it had been, even with the help of the force from castle Anarion and the Varulfur.

The door to Kirryn’s little room opened again, and a familiar figure entered the room. 

Falco jumped to his feet and bowed. “My Lord Thane,” he said with reverence.

“Thane!” Kirryn cried happily, and with far less reverence.

Falco gave him a surprised look. “And just how do you come to know Lord Thane?” he demanded.

“It’s a long story,” Thane said in his deep voice. “Now, run along, Master Falco, Captain Jessany has work for you. I will stay with our patient for a while.”

Falco was still looking confused as he bid farewell to Kirryn, snapped a salute to Thane, and then scurried from the room.

“I’m sorry,” Kirryn began, “I should have remembered I am supposed to keep our visit to you secret.”

“Nay, lad,” Thane said, squeezing his huge frame onto the chair by Kirryn’s side, “there is no need for secrecy now. I see you have survived a blow one of my men would have been proud to have walked away from...your family will be astonished.” He grinned, bearing his formidable teeth.

It took Kirryn a moment to catch on, and then his eyes went round. “You’ve, you’ve found my people?” he gasped.

“Indeed.”

The room span round, and Kirryn had to take several deep, steadying breaths. 

“Are you all right?” Thane asked with concern.

“Yes, but...but it’s such a shock. I’m so used to it being just me, that I can’t really imagine there being others like me...of belonging to somewhere...properly. Will, will I be able to go there? And what is my world called?”

“Our world is called Rellian,” said a voice from the door.

Kirryn’s head snapped round, and he came to face to face with a man who had quietly entered the room, a man whose eyes were exactly like Kirryn’s. He was tall, with black hair hanging straight to his broad shoulders. He wore a long, deep green cloak, pinned at the shoulder with a large bronze brooch. He smiled at Kirryn in a friendly way, and came forward into the room.

“Kirryn,” Thane said, “I’d like to introduce you to Raif Yed Prior. He is your uncle.”

There was nothing Kirryn could do to stop the tears that sprang into his eyes. “My...my uncle?” he repeated. And then he put his hands over his face and wept. In just a few short moments he had gone from being the only one of his kind, to discovering that there was a whole world of his people, and that he had family. Real, living family.

Family that even now was sitting down on the edge of Kirryn’s bed, and putting two strong, warm arms around him.

Kirryn heard Thane leave the room, but still he sobbed as his uncle held him close and soothed his head with a broad hand. Finally his tears slowed, and his uncle passed him a large handkerchief with which to dry his eyes and blow his nose.

“I had expected a reaction,” Kirryn’s uncle said with a voice that held a smile, “but I do hope those are tears of happiness, and not dismay?”

Kirryn pulled himself together and let out a watery laugh. “It’s just...it’s just that I have been alone for so long...so out of place.... My parents? Are my parents....”

Raif got up from the bed, and went and fetched a mug of water. As Kirryn drank it Raif said, “We believe your parents are dead.”

Tears sprang into Kirryn’s eyes again. “What...what were their names? Do I have any brothers or sisters?” he continued, suddenly greedy for more information, more family.

“Your mother’s name was Talerey, she was my sister. Your father was Radnor, he was my best friend. They were good people.” Raif paused for a moment, and then went on. “They were newly married when they set off on their journey. Your father was an explorer. He had heard rumours of the existence of a land, far to the west, and he set off to find it. Your mother went with him. We received word of them for some time: whenever they stopped in a port, my sister would send me a letter. One of her letters contained news of your birth. It is the tradition of our people to combine the names of the parents to create the name of the first born, but your parents broke with tradition and called you Dargan—it means ‘to discover’. That was the last we heard from them.”

For a few moments Kirryn was silent as he digested the news that his parents were dead. But he had never known them, and his curiosity soon got the better of him. “So, so how did I end up here in Allaria?” he asked.

“We can but guess,” Raif said. “Taking into account how and where you were discovered, and information from the Varulfur about these ‘gateways’ of theirs, we can only think that perhaps there was a storm, that the ship was wrecked, and that somehow you were thrown clear of the wreckage in your cot, and drifted through one of these gateways, and on to the shores of Allaria.”

“But how do you come to be here? How did you find me?”

“One of your Varulfur friends caused great consternation by striding into the middle of our marketplace one quiet afternoon,” Raif said with a grin. “As soon as he caught sight of us he became rather excited. The townspeople called on me to assist, knowing that I am familiar with a number of languages, and thankfully I was able to understand what he was trying to tell us—the Varulfur language is not dissimilar to that of a remote clan of mountain dwellers in our realm...which is rather intriguing, now that I think about it. I wonder if....” Raif’s face had morphed into a far-away expression which Kirryn was all too familiar with. His guardian, Turais, had looked similar when he had been thinking about some scholarly conundrum. Raif snapped back into the present. “I had taken it upon myself to learn their language some years ago. When I realised that he was trying to say he had been looking for us....”

“Looking for you?”

“It seems your friend Thane has been sending his men out here and there through those gates of his, to try and find your people for you. He thinks highly of you,” Raif added. “Well,” he went on, “when he managed to make us understand that there was one of our people on another world, I had to come and see for myself.”

“But how can you be sure I am your, your nephew?” Kirryn asked, suddenly worried that his new found relative might turn out not to be related to him at all.

Raif smiled. “Oh, there is no doubt. You have your mother’s eyes...and your father’s hard head, it seems! But not only that, not all our people have eyes the colour we do,” Raif explained. “Different clans have particular colours: our clan, the Gamil Clan, have golden eyes; the Dorwell have green; the Pufine have red; Exondians have purlple.... Our clan is small, and I know every member. For you to have eyes like yours, there could have been no mixing with another clan, or the eye colour would have diluted, changed. No, to have those pure golden eyes, you have to be the son of two of the Gamil Clan members. The only two members who were unaccounted for were your mother and father. You are my sister’s son, Kirryn.”

Kirryn sank back on his pillows, trying to take everything in. It was all so overwhelming: he knew where he came from...there were others like him...he had relatives...

“You have many relatives, Kirryn, back on Rellian,” Raif continued, as if he had read Kirryn’s mind. “Many relatives who will be overjoyed to have you returned to them. And you would have a home with me. I understand that you may want to think about whether you wish to return to Rellian with me—Allaria has been your home for most of your life—but I want you to know that you will have a warm welcome there. I myself would be delighted to have you return with me.” Raif got to his feet. “I will leave you now, Kirryn. I don’t expect you to make your mind up just yet. But I need to return to Rellian in three days; it would be wonderful if you came with me.” 

Raif bent to drop a kiss on the top of Kirryn’s head. “I’ll send your friend Gwydion to keep you company,” he said as he left.

But it wasn’t Gwydion who arrived, it was Mentak.

Kirryn’s smile of greeting turned into one of concern when he took stock of all Mentak’s injuries. He had a gash across his forehead, his face was one mass of bruises, his arm was in a sling, and he walked with the aid of a stick.

Mentak noticed Kirryn’s expression and smiled. “You should have seen the other fellow!” he said as he came and sat down by the fire. “You’re the one that everyone thought was a lost cause. When Lord Anarion carried you in from the field, there wasn’t a man who saw you who thought you would ever open your eyes again!”

The shock wave rolled through Kirryn. “Wh...what?” he managed to stutter.

“Aye,” Mentak went on, oblivious to Kirryn’s shock. “His Lordship must have worked some of his magic on you, for even Master Rolf was tutting like an old woman and shaking his head over your prospects for survival.”

“Lord Anarion brought me here?” Kirryn asked, hope beginning to flower within him. If his master had gone so far as to seek out Kirryn’s body...and carry him here in his arms....

Mentak gave him a curious look. “We were searching the field for survivors...we had all but given up hope of finding you, but his Lordship persisted, and eventually found you under the body of one of the Varulfur—by Vicia! Those men can fight!” he said with feeling—“he brought you in, and sat with you half the night, until he was called away by the Prince.”

Kirryn fought to keep the grin off his face. If Lord Anarion had made such an effort on his part, maybe, just maybe, he did have some feelings for Kirryn after all.

Later, after Mentak had gone, Kirryn made up his mind. He would seek his master out, and...and... That was as far as Kirryn’s thoughts went. He needed to see his master...whatever followed, well that would be seen in time.

The castle was quieter than it had been when Kirryn and Gwydion had been exploring before the battle. Then it had hummed like a bees’ nest, now its inhabitants went quietly about their work. From what he could see through the castle windows, the courtyard was now empty of men, and Kirryn supposed that those who could, had returned to their homes. From his earlier exploration, Kirryn knew where the best apartments in the castle could be found, and he made his way there on trembling knees. Once there, he stopped a servant boy and asked which apartment had been given to Lord Anarion, the boy pointed him in the right direction. When he reached the door to the suit of rooms, Kirryn paused, his hand raised to knock, and at that moment a man servant came through the door. He stopped abruptly when he saw Kirryn. “Yes? Can I help you? These are the apartments of the Lord Anarion.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I was wondering if...if perhaps I may see him?”

The man looked indignant. “His Lordship is a very busy man. What business do you have with him?”

“I...I’m one of his...his servants, from Riversmeet,” Kirryn stammered.

The man’s expression softened slightly. “Well, I’m sorry, but his Lordship is not available. Could you not leave a message?”

Kirryn was beginning to feel desperate. “Yes, yes...could you tell him that Kirryn is here to see him...please,” he pleaded.

The servant let out a theatrical sigh. “Oh, all right, but I don’t expect for a moment he will see you. Wait here!” he ordered, before disappearing back into the apartment.

Only a few minutes passed before he returned. “As I thought, and as I warned you: his Lordship is unable to see you. He does not have the time to speak with serving boys. He suggests you address any problems or questions you may have to Mentak.”

The fire of hope that had been burning within Kirryn was abruptly extinguished. His shoulders drooped, and for a moment he stood, simply unable to think what to do next. He had been so sure that the fact that Lord Anarion had brought Kirryn in his arms from the battlefield, and had sat with him during the night, and used his healing powers on him... Well, he had been wrong. He turned to go.

“I’m sorry,” the manservant said, with concern in his voice. “Perhaps if you speak with Mentak, and your enquiry is serious enough, then Mentak may be able to arrange a meeting with Lord Anarion...other than that, I cannot suggest anything else.”

Kirryn shook his head. “No, no,” he said slowly. “I have the answer to my question already.”


	20. The Last One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> This story was dedicated to HPStrangelove and Winoniel with good reason. 
> 
> My first thank you goes to HPStrangelove. Over the years (yes, really!) it has taken me to write E&O, my dear friend HPStrangelove has been my “one reader”. She has read, reviewed, helped, made suggestions, and most of all encouraged me to keep writing when I felt like giving up. 
> 
> My second thank you goes out to the wonderful Winoniel. She stepped in when I was in desperate need of a beta reader. It is never easy working with a new beta reader, especially when you have spent years working with someone else. I trusted my beloved RaeWhit completely and utterly – and it came as a real relief when I found that not only could I trust Winoniel just as much, but that it was a real pleasure to work with her. 
> 
> Both ladies gave their time and effort unstintingly, and no words can properly express just how much I appreciate that. Neither can words can express just how much I value their friendship. Thank you, girls. Love you!

 

.

“I can’t believe you are going to live in a different country,” Gwydion said, partly with awed excitement, partly with sadness. “I’m going to miss you so much,” he added.

Kirryn folded up his spare shirt, and stuffed it into the leather satchel his uncle had provided. Raif had sat with him each day since they had been introduced, telling Kirryn about his family and about the land where he was going to live. Kirryn had tried to be excited, and in some respects he was: the thought of having numerous family members, of being in a place where his eyes were nothing out of the ordinary, was a lovely prospect. But his heart still ached for Fay’eth and his misery lay heavy on him. Even his uncle had picked up on Kirryn’s sombre mood, and had gone so far as to suggest that if the thought of leaving Allaria was causing him so much sadness he needn’t come to Rellian until he was ready.

The door to Kirryn’s room opened, and his uncle stepped through. “Are you ready, Kirryn?”

Kirryn nodded. “Yes,” he said simply. He swung his cloak around his shoulders, and picked up his pack. He turned to Gwydion. “Take care, Gwydion. You know you can visit, anytime.”

“Indeed,” Raif affirmed. “There will always be a welcome for any friend of Kirryn’s.” He smiled at Gwydion.

Kirryn cast one last look around his room. Both Master Rolf and Mentak had been in to say their goodbyes earlier—Thane having departed the day before—and really there was nothing to stay his departure...only the hope that Lord Anarion would come to bid him farewell. But finally he had to accept that this was not going to happen, and he turned and followed his uncle down to the courtyard where horses were waiting for them. 

One of the Varulfur was there to escort them back to the gate, and to instruct them how to travel between the two lands in the future. Raif had been fascinated by the gateways, and had spent a great deal of time with Thane discussing them; he was looking forward to travelling through them again. Kirryn was not so keen, for travelling through the gateway would take him a long way away from Allaria, the only home he had ever known, and Lord Anarion, the only person he had ever loved.

They mounted up, and, waving to Gwydion, who had followed them down to the courtyard, Kirryn turned his mount and trotted out through the castle gateway.

They stopped for a bite to eat and a rest when the sun was high. Sitting on a grassy bank by the side of the road, Kirryn’s uncle remarked, “I was surprised Lord Anarion agreed to release you from your oath of service to him: he seems to think very highly of you.”

Kirryn swallowed hard, and kept his eyes on his food.

“Of course,” Raif went on, “he is not Lord Anarion now. Although he didn’t seem too bothered about handing over the title to his brother. I got the impression...”

But Kirryn had stopped listening as an awful realisation dawned on him. Fay’eth was no longer Lord Anarion. Gwydion had told him as much...but so much had been happening at the time, that it went completely out of Kirryn’s head. When he had been to see Lord Anarion in his chamber, it had not been his Lord Anarion that had declined to see him. It had not been Fay’eth, but Fay’eth’s brother, the new Lord Anarion. He jumped to his feet and turned to his uncle. “I can’t go,” he stated. “Not yet. There are...there is...” he swallowed hard, not knowing how to voice his love for Fay’eth Anarion.

“There is someone,” Raif said with great perspicacity. He got to his own feet and dropped a hand onto Kirryn’s shoulder. “I have known for some time that it was not in your heart to come with me. But I also see great sadness in your eyes,” he added with concern. 

“I do want to come,” Kirryn said, “just...just there is something I have to do first. Someone I have to see,” he added, suddenly knowing what it was he had to do. He had to go to Fay’eth and ask him, face to face, if he really no longer cared for Kirryn. Then he would know for certain, one way or the other. Part of him chided himself for holding out any hope at all that his love was returned. But another part of him could not forget that Fay’eth had searched for Kirryn, and carried him from the battlefield in his own arms.

“Kirryn?” Raif said gently, “I have to go now, there is business I must attend to, but I shall come back in a week or so. I will not desert you, not now that I have found you. Don’t worry about not coming with me right away – I was wrong to assume you could just walk away from your old life.”

Kirryn gave his uncle a grateful look. “Thank you,” he said simply.

They mounted their horses, and, with one last assurance that he would return for Kirryn in a week, Raif turned his mount and cantered off with the Varulfur who was accompanying them. Kirryn turned his own mount back towards the castle, and, still wondering if he was doing the right thing, kicked his heels into his horse’s side.

It was dark by the time Kirryn reached the castle at Cor-Caroli. He threw the reigns of his horse to a stable boy who came running out to meet him, and then, before he had a chance to change his mind, Kirryn swiftly made his way to Fay’eth Anarion’s quarters. 

He was directed to a small suite of rooms high in the East tower. He approached the heavy oak door with a feeling like butterflies tumbling around his stomach. Then he raised his hand and knocked.

“Come in,” a familiar voice called.

Kirryn took a deep breath, and opened the door.

As he entered, Fay’eth looked up from his place by the fire, where he was seated reading a book. He stared at Kirryn with astonishment. “I thought you had gone,” he said finally.

Kirryn nodded. “I had, but then I realised that I had to know for sure...to hear it from you own mouth, that you do not care for me.”

“Not care for you?” Fay’eth interrupted. He threw his book to the floor, and jumped to his feet. “Not care for you? You have no idea just how much I do care for you. I love you, Kirryn.”

They were the words that Kirryn had dreamed of hearing, but he simply could not find words to reply. Instead, tears began to course down his cheeks.

Fay’eth had Kirryn in his arms in a moment, holding him close. “Oh, Kirryn, I am so sorry. I should never have pretended that I didn’t care, never have left you at Riversmeet...but I had no choice...I had to protect you.”

Kirryn found his voice. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Fay’eth drew Kirryn with him to the chair, seated himself and pulled Kirryn onto his lap. “Back at Riversmeet, when we returned from Varul” he began, “things were desperate. I had been given cause to suspect my own wife and her brother were plotting against me, and I knew that if I took you back to the castle with me, I would put your life in danger. If Lynaria had guessed how deeply I cared for you—and she would have known the first time I looked at you—then she would have used my love for you against me, and your life would have been but a bargaining tool.”

“But why didn’t you just tell me?” Kirryn asked.

“Would you really have stayed at Riversmeet if I had told you to?” Fay’eth asked. 

Kirryn thought about it. “Probably not,” he said eventually.

“I had to push you away; make you think that I did not care for you...and it was the hardest thing I have ever done,” Fay’eth went on.

A light went on in Kirryn head. “That was what Thane was trying to tell me,” he exclaimed.

“What did Thane say?” Fay’eth asked.

“He said that sometime we have to do things we do not wish to do...he said that you may not want me to become one of your c...cares. I thought he meant that you hadn’t really wanted to take me to your bed...”

“But didn’t I tell you that I had wanted you for some time?” Fay’eth interrupted.

“But all the time he was warning me that you were going to leave me at Riversmeet...that is what he meant, isn’t it? He knew what you intended to do?”

Fay’eth gave a rueful smile. “He told me that I should tell you the truth; that you deserved to know. Said that mistakes of the past shouldn’t be repeated.”

Kirryn frowned. “Mistakes of the past?”

“When Thane did the same thing to me as I did to you...pretended indifference. I thought I knew better,” Fay’eth continued. “His treatment of me had had the desired effect – I had gone home, just as he had intended. I thought it would have the same affect on you: that you would stay safely at Riversmeet until all peril had passed...that then I could come back to you and explain why I had done what I did. When the news came of the invasion, and I realised that you would be on the battlefield...I was...I was distraught. I knew I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you. I came to save you, as much as I came to save Allaria!”

Kirryn stared at Fay’eth, almost overwhelmed by the declaration and the love he could see shining in the turquoise eyes.

“But why...why didn’t you come to me, here, when I was recovering? You could have told me everything...you could have explained...why didn’t you come to me?”

“I wanted to. But I knew how much I had hurt you...and then when your uncle arrived...I thought perhaps it would be better for you if you went away to be with your family. I knew I did not have the right to expect you to still love me after what I had done to you,” Fay’eth finished.

“I never stopped loving you,” Kirryn said simply. “Even when you pushed me away, I still loved you. I will always love you.”

Kirryn saw Fay’eth swallow, and then Fay’eth’s mouth was on his, and they were kissing. Kissing with a frantic need that drove all other thoughts from Kirryn’s head. He wound his arms around Fay’eth as the older man stood, and backed Kirryn to the big four-poster bed in the corner of the room. Then they were lying upon it, bodies pressed close as they kissed, and Fay’eth’s hands were tugging at Kirryn’s clothes. Kirryn’s were equally busy undoing the fastenings on Fay’eth’s clothing, and it wasn’t long before they were lying naked on the soft coverings of the bed. It felt so good, so right, so familiar, and Kirryn sighed with pleasure.

Fay’eth’s hands roamed over Kirryn’s skin, smoothing and caressing, pausing to tease his nipples, or run a finger up and down the length of Kirryn’s rapidly hardening cock. 

“I never thought I’d get to do this again,” Fay’eth said softly, “I can’t tell you how good it feels; how right to have you back in my arms...in my bed.”

“You don’t need to tell me...I feel the same way,” Kirryn replied.

Fay’eth ducked to kiss Kirryn again, his hands now moving over Kirryn’s body with more purpose. He pushed Kirryn’s knees apart with his own, and then slipped down to lie between them, his mouth pausing over Kirryn’s cockhead, breathing over the sensitive tip, his hands spread on Kirryn’s hips, holding him in place. Then Kirryn’s length was engulfed by the lovely, warm wetness of Fay’eth mouth, and he tipped his head back and cried out his pleasure as Fay’eth tongue slid up and down his cock, and the older man’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked. Kirryn’s hands went down to tangle in the mass of blond hair that slipped deliciously over his thighs, and he desperately fought against Fay’eth grip to push more of himself into that caressing mouth.

As Fay’eth mouthed Kirryn’s cock, his fingers curled around Kirryn’s balls, and then swept further back to circle that little whorl of flesh that guarded the entrance to Kirryn’s body. Kirryn moaned as he felt their touch, knowing full well what they signified, and welcoming it. He bent his knees to give his lover easier access, tilting his hips and opening himself to Fay’eth delving fingers. He was so eager for Fay’eth that it took little time until Fay’eth deemed him ready, and left off sucking on Kirryn’s cock to slide up his body, pausing to plant a sucking kiss on each nipple, before claiming Kirryn’s mouth. One arm braced on the bed as his other hand guided his hard cock to the target of the entrance to Kirryn’s body. Then he sank inside, moaning into Kirryn’s mouth as he did so.

They stilled, holding each other tightly. Then Fay’eth began to move: long, slow strokes which sank into Kirryn to the hilt, and then withdrew until only his cockhead was left inside, and again...and again. Each inward surge swept over Kirryn’s sweet spot, until his fingers were digging into Fay’eth’s shoulders and his head was thrown back on the pillow, his mouth open in a wordless cry of ecstasy. He felt his orgasm approaching, but Fay’eth was not ready for him to come yet. He reached between their bodies and took hard hold of Kirryn’s cock, nipping the base tightly until Kirryn nodded and gasped that the crisis was over. 

But it was not over for long. Fay’eth’s cock now began to pound into Kirryn, driving hard and fast into that welcoming warmth. Kirryn wrapped his legs tightly around Fay’eth’s back, and his heels urged his lover harder and deeper...until the moment came on them both at the same time. Twin cries of pleasure rang out in the room, succeeded by the sound of heavy breathing as Fay’eth rolled away, his softening cock slipping from Kirryn’s body. He gathered Kirryn to his side, his lips dropping a kiss on Kirryn’s hair as he settled the boy against his chest, his arms around Kirryn’s back.

 

They lay in comfortable silence for while, until Fay’eth arose from the bed and went and fetched them both a goblet of wine. When he returned, his expression was grave, and Kirryn felt a flutter of worry. 

“A lot of things have changed since we were last together,” Fay’eth said slowly as he settled back on the bed and passed a cup of wine to Kirryn.

Kirryn had propped himself up on the pillows, now he shifted so that he was looking at his lover. Whilst he thought he knew some of what Fay’eth was about to tell him, he wanted to hear it from Fay’eth’s perspective.

“My brother has returned—one of Thane’s rangers found him. The ranger knew me, and my story, and realised who he was. So Fen d’ryn will take over the title of Lord Anarion: it is his by right, and I am more than happy to relinquish the roll to him. And my wife...” Fay’eth frowned. “There was little love lost between us—she was meant for my brother; I was always second best in her eyes—but to be betrayed by her...” Fay’eth trailed off, and Kirryn was saddened to see the look of hurt in his lover’s eyes. “It is not so much for myself...but that she could betray her country,” Fay’eth continued, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Kirryn said simply, not really knowing what else to say. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have someone close to you cause the deaths of so many people.

Fay’eth sighed. “It has been a terrible time. But out of this darkness at least one good thing has come...I am free. Free do to what I want, when I want,” he looked down at Kirryn, “and with whom I want. We can be together!”

Kirryn’s heart thumped happily, and he grinned. “I was hoping you were going to say that. But how will we be together? Will we live at the castle?”

Fay’eth laughed. “Vicia! No; we won’t live there. The castle is now my brother’s home. And if there was little love lost between Lynaria and myself, there was even less between my brother and I! We fight like cat and dog. We are too different. No, Fen d’ryn will have the castle and the title. But I thought we could perhaps make our home somewhere a little more cosy, I thought perhaps...” But then Fay’eth stopped abruptly and frowned. “Here I am, arranging our lives together, without a thought of what you may already have planned,” he exclaimed. “I have just assumed you will be happy to stay with me, but what about your uncle? Your family? Surely you should be with your uncle now?”

“I told him I had...had some matters to take care of,” Kirryn replied. “He has gone back to Rellian, but he is returning for me in a week—he spoke at length with Thane about the doorways, and has been instructed on how to use them, so he can travel easily between our worlds—and so can I. I will return with him when he comes back—I really want to meet my family...but why don’t you come with me? You said yourself you are free to do as you like.”

“I should like that very much,” Fay’eth said. “There is so much we can do together,” he went on enthusiastically, putting down his empty cup. “We can visit your family and your uncle, we can go and visit Thane... We can travel the length and breadth of the gateways: there is so much I can show you!” he declared, sitting up in bed.

Kirryn yawned around a laugh; he was tired and was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. “That sounds wonderful,” he said. But do we have to start now? Only...”

Fay’eth laughed as well. “No, astkear, we do not have to start now, in the morning will do.”

“What does that word mean? I seem to have heard it before...but I can’t remember where.” A vague memory tickled at Kirryn’s mind, but he was too sleepy to chase it and catch it. He yawned again.

Fay’eth was silent for a moment, then he said softly, “It means “beloved.”

Kirryn smiled, and shut his eyes, ready to sleep safe and warm in Fay’eth’s arms. Then something occurred to him, and he opened his eyes again. “If we are not to live at the castle, where will live when we are not travelling? With my uncle?”

“Perhaps some of the time, but I have a small estate which belongs to me. It was bequeathed to me by my mother and is not part of the Anarion lands.”

“Is it nice?” Kirryn mumbled, even his curiosity not able to fend off impending sleep.

“I think so,” Fay’eth said. “It is called Riversmeet.”

Kirryn was wide awake in a moment. He sat up in bed. “Really?” he demanded. “Riversmeet is yours?”

Fay’eth nodded, his eyes alight with pleasure at Kirryn’s obvious enthusiasm.

“And we will live there? Really?” Kirryn went on, hardly able to believe that everything was working out so well. He loved Riversmeet so much, and the thought of living there with Fay’eth made him simply beam with pleasure.

“Yes,” Fay’eth said, laughing with delight. “Now, go to sleep, for tomorrow we begin our adventuring.” He tucked Kirryn back against his side, closing his eyes as he listened to his young lover’s breathing becoming slower as he drifted into sleep, and then, with a smile of contentment curving his lips, he too slept.

 

*The End*

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End file.
